


Praetorian

by Madam_Fandom



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, BAMF John, Bisexual John, Case Fic, Depressed John, Depressed Sherlock, Emotionally Hurt John, Emotionally Hurt Sherlock, Hurt John, Hurt Sherlock, Jealous Sally Donovan, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Military, Military John, Protective John, Sherlock AU, Sorry Sally you had your chance, Stalker, bodyguard John, jealous moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft feels that Sherlock is getting too popular in the media and hires a bodyguard to protect him. Enter John Watson. </p><p>An alternate meeting au.</p><p>Praetorian - fancy word for bodyguard</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely covers by ZygomataAmore

“Seriously Mycroft, I don’t need a bodyguard.” Sherlock argued.

 

“It’s not up for debate brother mine. You’ve made a name for yourself with this _consulting_ business;  and you’ve already had several threats. You _need_ a bodyguard. I’ve already taken the liberty of finding you one.”

 

“‘'Course you did.”

 

“He comes highly recommend. He is ex-military. And very inconspicuous. He can go anywhere with you and no one would ever suspect he was your bodyguard. Oh! And he’ll be moving in as well. I have already cleared it with Mrs. Hudson.”

 

Sherlock turned on his brother, getting in his face. “You had no right Mycroft! None! These threats aren’t even serious. And even if they are, I’m an adult and should be allowed to deal with them however I see fit!”

 

“Do stop screaming Sherlock. Your soldier should be here any minute. I told him to meet me at 6 o’clock.” There was a knock at the door. “Ah, there he is.”

 

Sherlock stalked over to his favorite seat, dropping into it and crossing his arms, pouting.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his little brother’s antics. Opening the door he stepped aside so the bodyguard he hired could enter. “Sherlock, this is John Watson. John Watson that petulant little boy is my brother Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Sherlock looked up intending to continue arguing with his brother when he got his first look at his bodyguard. He was intrigued. Nothing about his appearance would lend confidence that he would be handy in this line of work. Sherlock popped out of his seat all grace and fluid movements. “Hello. As my aging brother has so politely pointed out, I am Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.” Sherlock offered his hand to John. John shook it once firmly.

 

“Pleasure.” John showed himself around the flat. Moving room to room, hands clasped behind his back. Coming back into the sitting room John said, “I will need to see any and all threats you have received in the past and any new ones that come in. Anytime you leave this flat, I need to be by your side.” John turned and looked at Sherlock when there was no response. Sherlock was staring at him, fingers steepled. Turning to Mycroft. “He’s doing that _thing_ you said he does.”

 

“Yesss. You two should get along famously. Goodbye dear brother, try not to run him off.” Mycroft showed himself out.

 

John walked over to the seat opposite the one Sherlock had just vacated. Sitting down he openly observed the other man. He was odd. But Mycroft had warned him about that. This job appeared to be glorified babysitting, but he was happy to have even this job. It paid well and gave him a place to stay. Sherlock still had not moved. He would have been great in the military John thought absently.

 

“Mr. Holmes. Mycroft tells me you often work with Scotland Yard? Do you have a point of contact there, someone who could act as a liaison? Maybe even run background checks on potential threats?”

 

Sherlock did not answer for some time. John simply sat in the silence of the sitting room simply watching this strange man.

 

“Please, call me Sherlock.”

 

John looked down at his watch. 15 mins had passed since Mycroft had left. “Okay, Sherlock. Did you hea-”

 

“Lestrade. Graham, Geoff, George. I don’t know. I can never remember his first name.”

 

“Greg.”

 

Sherlock looked at John, “Nooo, I think it’s Graham.”

 

“It’s definitely Greg. I dated one of the officers under him.”

 

“Ahh good ol’ Sgt. Donovan.”

 

“Why would you assume her? It could’ve been anyone.”

 

“Was it not her?”

 

“Yeah it was Donovan. What about you? Girlfriend?”

 

“No. Not really my thing.”

 

“Okay. Boyfriend then?”

 

Sherlock looked sharply at John. “No.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Look John, I’m flattered by your int-”

 

John’s eyes got big and a flush crept up his face. “No, you um, misunderstood me. I was simply asking because I would need to add them to the safe list.”

 

“Safe list? What safe list?”

 

“The list of people who are authorized to visit here. I hate to break it to you, but from what your brother was telling me, you’re an up and coming amateur detective. That may sometimes cause people to wish ill will towards you. Friends and family included. I of course would assess each person in your personal circle and give you my advice or assessment if you will.”

 

“Well, you will be happy to know there is no one to assess. I keep to myself...most people can't seem to _stomach_ my presence. And I’m not an amateur.”

 

“Excuse me? Scotland Yard would not consult an amateur, would they?”

 

“No.”

 

“No. I am the one person they call when they are out of their depths.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay? That’s it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The men sat in silence, openly watching one another.

 

“Tell me about Moriarty.”

 

Sherlock visibly stiffened. “What...do you want to know?”

 

“Why does your brother feel like he is a threat to you?”

 

“Moriarty. It’s a bit complex, hard to explain. It started with a case, his name was dropped by the suspect. I thought nothing of it until another case and that suspect also dropped his name. Both reluctantly I might add. He has since contacted me a couple times, somewhat indirect.”

 

“How exactly?”

 

“Postal mail. Email. A text from an unknown number.”

 

“Let me see them Sherlock.”

 

“What makes you think I kept them? I could’ve turned them over to the police, my brother or got rid of them.”

 

John gave Sherlock a pointed stare. “You kept them. I know because you’re not taking the threat seriously. Plus, something tells me, this guy appeals to your vain side.”

 

“I don’t have a vain side.”

 

“We all have a vain side. We all want to be loved and admired. And when someone does so, we lap it up like a thirsty pup.”

 

Sherlock appraised the bodyguard. Looking at him in a new light. “Beauty and brains then.” Sherlock murmured under his breath.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Nothing. Tell me how you came to this assessment of yours.”

 

“My job requires me to be observant, more so than most people. It also helps to have a bit of understanding about people. I’m a person. Plus I was-”

 

“An army doctor in the military.” Sherlock finished for him.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Don’t you want to know how I know that?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. That information is readily available. I would be more concerned if you had revealed something about me that was not a matter of public record or something you couldn’t find out from your high ranking political office holding brother.”

 

John said it matter-of-factly. His voice held no hint of ire. Sherlock was intrigued.

 

John spoke up after several minutes of the staring game. “Tomorrow I would like you to take me with you on a typical day in your life. Your usual routine.”

 

Sherlock sighed. He felt rather embarrassed. He never felt embarrassed when he was outed for not being quite like other people. But for the sake of this man doing an exemplary job of protection, he had to be as honest with him as necessary. “I don’t have a daily routine. I'm not atypical. It is normal for _me_ to go days without speaking or eating. Usually when I'm on a case. I keep odd hours, also depending on the complexity of the case. I don’t really interact with people unless it involves a case. So in short-”

 

“You’re married to your work.”

 

“Yes, precisely.”

 

“Okay. Well have you started your day today yet?”

 

Sherlock squinted at John. “It’s after 6:30pm at night.”

 

“Yeah. You said your days revolve around your cases. So has your day started yet?”

 

“Yes. I am not on a case per se.”

 

“Oh good. Then you can retrieve the items that Moriarty sent you.” John smiled amicably.

 

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to make of this John fellow. He was sharp. And likeable. He blended in. He was probably very good at his job. He made you feel comfortable. Sherlock went to his room to retrieve the items John asked to see. Coming back out Sherlock stood over John, holding his phone and several sheets of paper. And a greeting card. He felt a bit reluctant to let this man see these items. If John had asked to see him naked, he would be more agreeable to that, than letting anyone see what was in his hand. It was a keen to baring his soul. Moriarty was the only person who understood him. And that alone was scary.

 

John watched the conflict play across Sherlock’s face. He did not want him to see these items. Why? Most likely they were revealing of himself, it implicated him in some wrong doing or he was ashamed of receiving and keeping the items. He sat back in the seat, getting comfortable, he might have a wait ahead of him.

 

Sherlock suddenly handed John a plain piece of typing paper. There was an email printed out on it.

**_Sherrrrrrrrlock._ **

**_Hello gorgeous. We should meet sometime. In fact, we may have already met. ☺☺☺☺ You intrigue me Sherlock. You remind me of someone. Hmmm, I wonder who could that be....TTYL_ **

**_Your Biggest Fan_ ** ❤

Sherlock watched as John read the email. He showed no reaction whatsoever. “That was the first indirect direct contact that we had. That I am aware of.” Sherlock handed him the Greeting card next.

 

It appeared to be handmade. It was cream colored and on the outside it said,

**_We’re a perfect pear!_ **

And on the inside was a pear cut down the middle, it was stitched back together and Sherlock’s face was on one half and a question mark on the other.

And again, signed,

 **_Your Biggest Fan_ ** ❤

Again, no reactions from John. Sherlock hesitated to hand over the next one. It was the most disturbing, to some. To Sherlock it was a little confusing to be honest. But he knew how it would  look to _normal_ people.

 

Passing the letter over to John, Sherlock turned his back. He didn’t want to see the look of disgust on John’s face. He had just met him, but already he was the most accepting person he had ever met.

 

The letter was written on heavy stock. Also cream colored and lined with gold.

 

**_Sherlock!_ **

**_How is my sexy detective doing? Miss me? I know I have been away for a while. I’m sooo sorry. Hope you aren’t feeling neglected. But I was busy, you know, toppling companies, murrrrrder. But let’s not talk business._ **

**_I think about you a lot Sherlock. I think about all the fun things we could be doing with one another, to one another. And sometimes, I picture your beautiful face as I orchestrate some of the best unsolved crimes. How would Sherlock solve this? And it’s my motivation to do better._ **

**_I can’t wait until we are standing face to face. The suspense_ ** **_must_ ** **_be killing you. It’s driving me insane! But I digress._ **

**_Until then._ **

**_Your Biggest Naughty Fan❤_ **

 

There was one more thing to turn over. His cell phone. Sherlock waited until he thought John had had ample time to read the letter and then handed out his phone to him without looking. John’s fingers brushed his lightly as he took it from his hand. Sherlock almost let go of the phone prematurely surprised by the unexpected contact.

 

John located the messages and there was only one message in the inbox. It read:

 

**_Hi Sexy!_ **

**_I just couldn’t stay away. I think about you all the time. Miss me? I’m sure you do. We were made for each other. But don’t fret, I am closer than you think._ **

**_Moriarty_ **

 

“So this is how you learned his name and linked him to those suspects who gave you his name. Here you go.” John extended his hand to Sherlock, trying to pass the items back. When he didn’t turn around to take the items he called his name, “Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock shivered. Turning he saw John’s extended hand, taking the items from him he walked back to his room and closed the door behind him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets called away to assist Lestrade.

 

John looked around the room that would be his. He would wait to move any personal items in; see how it goes for the first couple of days. He was sure Sherlock would be itching to throw him out in two days flat.

He decided to retrieve his bag from Mrs. Hudson. He had asked her if he could keep the bag there until after meeting Sherlock. Just in case they decided he wasn’t a good fit. Mrs. Hudson had misunderstood his hesitancy, she promptly assured him that Sherlock was harmless and a great guy. The fact that she immediately thought he would find fault with Sherlock and the fact that she jumped to his defense were both very telling of both parties. First, was the fact that people must often not like Sherlock, or often did not give him a chance. And second, Mrs. Hudson was very fond of Sherlock. She was not just simply his landlady.

John knocked on her flat door. Mrs. Hudson looked nervous when she came to the door. “So will you be staying then?” She asked without preamble.

John smiled warmly at her, “Yes. I will be staying. Thank you.” Mrs. Hudson looked far too relieved to be simply well meaning. John decided to try and discreetly question her. “Sherlock has already retired to his room. I’m afraid I scared him off.”

“Oh dear, Sherlock takes a bit to warm up to new people. Don’t worry about that. Would you like to come in? I was just about to put the kettle on.”

“Thank you, that would be nice.” John entered Mrs. Hudson’s flat making sure to lock the door behind him.

 

Back upstairs, Sherlock was pacing a hole in his room floor. He needed a case to take his mind off Moriarty and now John.

Sherlock was quite aware that the facade that John presented to the world was just that, a facade. What was beneath his friendly boy next door exterior? Was he hiding something dangerous, or was it part of his being a bodyguard?

He should have asked Mycroft more about him. Now it was too late to ask anything. Mycroft would just assume his interest were not strictly business oriented, and he would be right.

It had been so long since Sherlock had been intrigued by another person. Aside from Moriarty, but that was essentially the same as being preoccupied with himself. He and Moriarty were the same.

That was what he was afraid John would see in the letter’s, card and text message. That he would read those few lines and see Sherlock staring back at him. Also, knowing that Moriarty had eluded to his crimes, he did not want John to see him in that same light.

Sherlock’s mobile rang, it was Lestrade. _Thank god!_ “Lestrade.”

“Sherlock. I need your assistance. It’s not a big dea-”

“I’ll be there. Text me the address.” Sherlock hung up before Lestrade could get another word in. Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf; debating for a split second if he should find John and tell him he was leaving. He opted against it. Sherlock, assuming John was up in his room gave no thought to being quiet as he left; he pounded down the steps and out the door in a hurry.

 

“I’m sorry Mrs.Hudson. I must be going. Can’t get fired on my first day. Mind if I leave my bag down here  just until I get back?”

“No not at all dear.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” John reached into his bag pulling out his gun. When he saw that Mrs. Hudson was watching him nervously, he tried to make light of the situation. Smiling he said, "I assure you, I'm a professional." Standing John tucked his gun away and left, instructing Mrs. Hudson to lock up behind him.

 

Sherlock was standing outside an abandoned building in a bad part of London. He was quietly fuming. He thought Lestrade had called him down here for help with a case. Not to win a bloody bet. Either way it got him out of the flat, he was trying not to be mad.

“Sherlock are you listening? I need to know if a body bounces when it hits the ground.”

“What? No! That's absurd. Why do you ask? Do you have a case? Don’t hold out on me Lestrade.” Sherlock had gotten closer to Lestrade with each word spoken. He was currently in Lestrade's face, practically salivating at the thought of a case.

“No, there’s no case here for you Sherlock. We have it all under control.” Anderson sneered.

Sherlock didn't even bother with a reply, turning his head he gave Anderson a pointed look. Anderson backed up and pretended to check his phone.

“I see freaks here.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard the click-clack of Sgt. Sally Donovan approaching.

“Donovan how very unoriginal of you. As I recall, you use to call me the same thing.”

“John!?” Sgt. Donovan exclaimed, excitement obvious in her voice. John gave her a one armed hug. “Yes, but I meant it in an entirely different context.” she explained.

Sherlock raised his brows at the implications of her statement. “John. Fancy meeting you here.” Sherlock stared, wondering how in the world he had known he had left and found him.

John smiled warmly at Sherlock, “Quite right. Such a nice night out.”

“How do you know him John?” Sgt. Donovan asked.

“Oh I don’t, not really. We only just met, a couple of hours ago.”

Sherlock had his hands in his pocket smiling happily at the disapproval all over Donovan’s face. He stopped moving suddenly, squinting he rushed over to the side of the building. “Anderson don’t you bloody touch it.” Lestrade cursed under his breath and followed behind Sherlock.

Sally turned her attention back to John. “Stay away from him John. He’s bad news. You know he does this sorta thing for free?”

“We all have to have a hobby.”

“John I'm serious. He get’s off on it.”

“Considering the things that get you off, I don't think you're one to speak.” Sgt. Donovan was inflamed by John’s words. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

John approached Sherlock. He, Lestrade and Anderson were standing around a body arguing.

“Anderson don't be an idiot, actually I take that back. I guess it comes natural to you.” John walked up. Sherlock spotted him and said, “John you’re a doctor, come and tell me what you think of this body.”

“Who is he?” Lestrade and Anderson asked simultaneously.

“He’s with me.” Sherlock replied.

“Yes, but who is he?”

“Sorry. I’m a colleague of Sherlock's. John Watson.”

“Annnnd Sgt. Donovan’s ex.” Sherlock added.

Lestrade looked at John appraisingly, making John feel uncomfortable.

“We all make mistakes.” John mumbled, squating down near the body. He gave the body a quick once over. “This body was dropped at least twice. At least once was from high up.” Sherlock smiled down at John. John saw the look and asked, “What?”

“You’re just proving my point John. Thank you.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. So, you’re telling me that this _isn’t_ a suicide?” Lestrade asked.

“What? No course not.” John said. There is barely any blood. The person was already dead when dropped, probably, I’d say a day or two.”

Sherlock had his hands clasped behind his back, grinning like The Cheshire Cat. He loved the 'I told you so' moments.

“Well I’ll be…” Lestrade said running his hands through his hair.

“What? Somebody wanna fill me in?” John asked.

Instead of answering, Sherlock was rushing into the building with Anderson and Lestrade right behind him. John looked around smiling, bemused.

“What are you smiling about?” It was Sally again.

“Oh I don’t know, it’s good to be alive.” John looked from Sally to the body on the ground.

“Are you working at Bart’s still? Teaching?”

“No. Wasn’t really for me.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Donovan, I’m needed up there. Good night.”

 

John rushed away and into the building. Hopefully Sherlock didn’t get himself killed on his first night on the job. Or throttled. John caught up to Sherlock and the others on the 3rd floor.

There was a broken window that had  blood smeared on it. Sherlock barely glanced at it and then was off running again. His eyes never ceased moving. Every area they entered, Sherlock rushed into it, walking in circles, talking to himself, acting erratic. Anderson and Lestrade just kept to the background like they were used to this sort of behavior.

They  had reached the roof. There was a fair amount of blood up here. He looked over the edge of the building, walking around the whole roof top. And then, he did something that made John’s heart stop. He climbed up onto the ledge and looked down. Sherlock's mobile went off. Sherlock didn’t  even bother getting down from the ledge before taking his phone out and reading the message. Upon reading it his head shot up in a panic and he was looking all around. 

John walked over to Sherlock. “Come on Sherlock. Hand it over.” John purposely stood out of reach of Sherlock so he would have to get down to pass him the phone. Sherlock hopped down, still turning and looking every which way, as if he was looking for someone or something. John looked at the message still displayed.

**_Be careful that you don’t fall for me._ **

**_Then again, would that be so bad._ **

**_JM_ **

Sherlock watched John’s face this time, he was surprised to see anger there.

“Let's go Sherlock. You can consult them from the flat.” John was watching their surrounds as well, just not as obviously as Sherlock. They had 8 flights of stairs to descend and a ton of possible scenarios that could result in Sherlock getting hurt or dying. _Not on his watch._

John was just exiting the building when Sherlock’s mobile still in his hand went off. Another message.

**_Hello. Who are you? And where are you rushing off to?_ **

John passed the phone to Sherlock. Sherlock frowned still looking around. Looking for Moriarty.

His mobile went off again.

**_I see you're looking for me._ **

**_Don’t._ **

**_I have a surprise in store for you. ❤_**

Sherlock passed the phone back to John. John read it and passed it back. They were now on the curb of the street waiting for a cab when Sherlock noticed Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were standing behind them. Aggravated with the turn of events he yelled at the trio. “What!?”

  
“Aren't you going to tell us what you think of the scene? Give me something to go on, I thought we were dealing with a jumper. And now your doctor friend tells us this bloke had been dead for at least 2 days.” Lestrade asked.  
  
"I told you the same thing!" Sherlock argued, still yelling.  
  
“Aren't you going to enlighten us, tell us how the crime was done and how we’re too incompetent to solve it with you?” That was Anderson.  
  
“What’s the matter fre-”  
  
John pointed a finger in Sally’s face. “Don’t.”  
  
Sally looked shocked, mouth hanging open.  
  
A cab pulled up beside them. Sherlock got in first, as John was getting in Donovan found her voice.  
  
“I'm having a hard time believing you just met him John, then again, you did always trust too easily. Remember what I said-” John got in the cab and shut the door while Sally was still talking.  
  
  
  
John was looking out the window watching their surroundings as they made their way back home.  
  
Sherlock watched John. He had stood up for him. Nobody ever stood up for him. And this man barely knew him. Sherlock exhaled heavily. “What did Donovan mean back there?”  
  
“Which part?”  
  
“All of it I suppose. Since she was referring to me. Even if she was only trying to get a rise out of you.”  
  
“Well, she warned me off of you. Said you were trouble, that you get off on the crimes and that I should stay away from you. That’s what she meant by remember what she told me. And-”  
  
“And what did you say to that?”  
  
“I told her we all had our hobbies.”  
  
Sherlock laughed. “Thanks for that. Most people would’ve taken her advice.”  
  
John finally looked away from the window, pivoting to look at Sherlock. He smiled, “Most people are idiots.”  
  
The men had stared at each other for a moment too long, when John noticed they were stopped. They weren’t at a traffic light nor were there any kind of obstructions in the road. “Excuse me why ha-” he had begun to ask when The light from the street glinted off steel giving John fair warning that the cabbie had a gun. “Get down Sherlock!” As the driver was turning to point the gun, John grabbed the man’s arm, bringing it down on the seat divider repeatedly until he dropped the gun. The man screamed out in pain. A sickening crack could be heard, the would be assassin’s arm hung at an unnatural angle,  broken. John scrambled quickly over the seats pulling his own gun and pointing it at the man.  
  
“Sherlock call Lestrade.” Sherlock did as instructed.  
  
“Who hired you?” John questioned. The man said nothing just stared a hole in John. “Okay. Who were you trying to kill?”  
  
In a heavily accented voice the man said, “It doesn’t matter. I will be dead, soon anyways.”  
  
“Then tell me.”  
  
The man said nothing else.    
  
  
  
Lestrade and Donovan came screeching up, tires spinning. They approached the vehicle carefully with their guns drawn.  
  
Lestrade dragged the suspect out of the car, despite his broken arm, handcuffed him and put him in the police car. Sherlock filled Lestrade in on what the guy had said about being dead soon.  
  
Sally stated, “Unfortunately, no one's hurt." As she made her statement she was looking at Sherlock, while he was looking at John.  
  
Anderson pulled up in a second squad car and got out. Lestrade got behind the wheel, John had asked him to take Sherlock and himself home, he wasn't taking anymore chances tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

 

When the men got back to the flat Sherlock and Lestrade went upstairs. While John went to retrieve his bag from Mrs. Hudson.

“Everything all right?” She asked.

John smiled reassuringly. “Quite. Thank you again Mrs. Hudson. I have to get upstairs and discuss some things with Sherlock and Detective Inspector Lestrade. Good evening.”

 

John went back upstairs mind already going back over the close call. They didn’t even know _who_ the gunman was after. Sure, John didn’t have any known enemies but technically neither did Sherlock. He couldn’t count the media. And this Moriarty character was still an unknown to John. He wasn’t exactly sure what his game was. Moriarty’s messages to Sherlock seemed blatantly sexual. But John had a feeling it was meant to come across that way and there was really a hidden meaning. One that only Sherlock would understand or that Moriarty thought Sherlock would understand.

Moriarty had confessed to nefarious deeds so he knew the man was capable of orchestrating a hit on himself or Sherlock. But he seemed to need Sherlock for something. But what? Was Sherlock aware of the reason?

 

Opening the door to their flat, he saw Lestrade sitting on the couch, tie undone and coat wrapped over the side. His hair was a mess like he had run his hands through it repeatedly. Sherlock on the other hand was as calm as a vet; but he had a serious case of adrenaline rush going on. He was excited, absolutely beside himself with excitement. He was practically vibrating with it. John found it infectious.

“Ahh, there you are. Quite an exciting first day. Hope this didn't scare you off.” Sherlock commented casually.

“No of course not. This isn’t the norm for you right? I mean it’s not everyday you find yourself accosted by a cabbie.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He sat down in his seat and less than 15 seconds he had hopped back up.

“Sherlock! Focus. Please give me your impression of the crime scene now that your- what is he?” Lestrade asked pointing to John.

“As I said previously, I’m simply a colleague sharing a flat with him.” John explained.

“Huh. Well you two seemed pretty chummy earlier. But anyways, now that he is here can you _please_ walk me through it so I can get back to the station and write up a report.”

“I’d be happy to. First, as John pointed out, the victim had been dead at least two day prior to being dropped from the building. The body had to have been dropped at least twice.”

“Okay, this part I understand. That was the reason I called you out there in the first place Sherlock. Anderson wanted to argue the toss. He thought that the body could have bounced upon hitting the ground and that was the reason he had abrasions on both his face and signs of the same on his back.”

Sherlock gave Lestrade a droll stare. “Your first mistake was even bothering to argue with Anderson, you should just ignore him. I mean seriously, he’s your Forensic Scientist and he-”

“Sherlock.” John interrupted gently.

“Yes. Sorry. So the blood on the third story and the roof was staged.”

“Staged?”

Sherlock began speaking again, rapidly in a low excited voice. “Obviously Lestrade. I’m so sure of it, you could test the blood, no, you should have it tested. I think you will find that it isn’t the same blood type as the victim. It might very well be animal blood. Carrying on. There was far _too much_ blood on the third floor and the roof, and far _too little_ on the ground outside around the body. Furthermore, if we were to believe he was a jumper why the blood at all? That amount of blood, you would assume the person would be bleeding out. So why jump?” Sherlock started pacing the room, seeming to forget anyone was even in the room with him. “Maybe, it's two different crimes meant to confuse. Maybe, the blood is from a different victim altogether. What. Is. Your. Game?”

Sherlock twirled around suddenly, stalking over to Lestrade. Bending over he braced his hands on the coffee table staring directly in Lestrade's eyes. “You need to test the blood and also find out who the fake jumper victim is.”

Lestrade just stared back at Sherlock, at a lost for words. “You’re not putting me on are you?”

Sherlock stood up clearly exasperated. “Really Graham. What would I have to gain by that?”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders, “It’s Greg. And why do you do anything?”

“Well there is only one way to find. Test the blood Lestrade.” John interjected trying to move the conversation along.

Lestrade turn his gaze to John. John gave a small smile and placed his hands in his pockets. Trying to look as clueless as possible.

“Why are you still sitting here!?” Sherlock screamed at Lestrade. Startling him into action.

Lestrade grabbed his coat and as he was walking to the door turned, “Thank you Sherlock.” And off he was, closing the door behind him.

 

John went to the door and locked it up, crossing to the window, he checked the locks there as well and closed the curtains.

John gave Sherlock all his attention then. Sherlock had been pacing again and when he saw that John was staring at him he asked, “What?”

“Oh where do I start? Maybe I should start with the fact that Moriarty is a bigger threat than you let on. Or how about how he was obviously watching you tonight. Oh! I know, how about how you baited Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan every step of the way while we were out there. You just had to show them up didn’t you? Better yet, let's talk about how you seriously got a high off of almost being killed.” John’s voice was deceptively low.

“Wait, why are _you_ angry?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t know! The whole situation has me pissed off.” John yelled. "From the staged crime scene and cryptic messages; to you needlessly putting yourself in danger."

Sherlock approached John, not breaking eye contact. “I’m beginning to see that I underestimated Moriarty, that he is a far more serious threat than I gave him credit for. Yes, he must have followed me some how. And I always bait those three stooges. Lestrade less than the others. Of course I have to show them up; you can see what they really think of me.”

“Well maybe if you weren't such a dick.” John suggested.

“Lastly yes, I got a high off tonight. And not just the end, the situation with the gunman; but the whole night from the very moment I realized I was on a case. But then again, you did as well. You're attracted to danger.” Sherlock accused. His eyes dipped to John's lips, just a quick appraisal. Unconsciously John licked his lips.

 

“So now what? There isn't much you can do until Lestrade gets back to you.”

“Not quite true. I can try and decipher Moriarty's messages to me.” Sherlock moved away from John.

“You think that there is a hidden message?”

“Of course. Don’t you? A man that brilliant wouldn’t be satisfied with just sending a message, he would need it to mean something; to serve a purpose.”

John smiled broadly. His thoughts exactly, but he didn't tell Sherlock that. Instead he proposed a different problem altogether. “Have you given any thought to idea that that scene was set up for you? That he didn’t follow you, but was _waiting_ for you to show up?”

“The thought crossed my mind the moment he sent the message about falling.”

“You two are similar. Yet different.” John tried to sound casual. Sherlock's back was to John so he was unable to see his face, but he knew he had struck a nerve by the way Sherlock went completely ramrod straight.

“Why do you say that?” Sherlock asked, trying for an equally casual tone.

“Well, you're both extremely intelligent. You both probably have a tough time dealing with regular people like me. Probably very lonely. Neither of you waste anything you do. Everything means something. Everything is thought about and planned before it is done. But, you’re like the anti Moriarty. You two are alike but different where it counts. He is a maladjusted murdering maniac and you are a self-contained sapient sleuth.”

Sherlock turned back to John, stepping in close. John could read hope in his eyes. Sherlock seemed to keep a tight reign on his emotions, he was positive Sherlock didn’t even realize he was confirming John’s suspicions about him.

“Two sides to the same coin? Night and day?” Sherlock wet his lips as he tried to make himself believe what John was saying. He was looking at John but not really seeing him. Could it really be that simple? That he was seeing the possibility of himself in Moriarty? By going up against him he was essentially stopping himself from becoming what Moriarty was?

 

John watched Sherlock. He was so pensive, brows furrowed, startling blue eyes seeing but, not. Before he realized what he was doing, John closed the few scant inches between them, buried his hand in Sherlock’s curls, pulling him down to meet his lips. They were as soft as they looked.

Sherlock monetarily froze, caught completely off guard. And then he was moving against John.

Sherlock kissed like a man drowning. He was all tongue and teeth. And John kissed him back with just as much fervor. He gripped Sherlock by the lapels of his coat. Sweeping his tongue around Sherlock’s tasting him for the first time. It wasn’t until Sherlock placed a hand on the side of his face and let out a small breathless moan, that John realized what the hell he was doing.

Letting go of Sherlock’s coat he backpedaled breaking the contact. “I’m sorry. That was...that was very unprofessional of me. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Sherlock looked at John through heavy lidded eyes. Lips red and swollen from their impromptu kiss. What could Sherlock say to that? He bloody enjoyed it. And he knew John did too. To be honest, he was surprised that John would even _want_ to kiss him. He seem so detached from everyone, everything and yet, he was completely in sync with the world around him. “Oh, it’s quite all right John.” They stood there a few moments bathed in an awkward silence. “I am going to go over the messages from Moriarty.” Sherlock announced finally.

Sherlock was almost to his room when he heard John exclaim softly, “Christ! I'm an idiot.”

Turning back, “Hey John, are we sure the gunman was aiming for me?” Without another word Sherlock entered his room and closed the door.

 

The next morning Sherlock woke to a text alert. Inwardly he groaned. For once, he did not want it to be Moriarty. He still had to sit down and quietly try and work out that whole concept. Picking up his mobile and wiping sleep from his eyes he saw that it was actually a message from Lestrade.

**_The gunman is dead. Unknown causes._ **

 

Sherlock groaned. He trudged out of bed, mind already flowing. Walking out of his room he absently made his way to the couch and dropped down onto his back. “Where to start. Where to start. Where to start.” Sherlock repeated to himself, steepling his fingers and breathing deeply.

John sat in his chair, sipping coffee. He glanced at Sherlock, he was completely oblivious of his presence. John looked around the room taking it in. It was very homey, had a lovely lived in feeling. Very unlike the last several places John had lived. The sitting room was as eccentric as its occupant.

The far wall was covered in a slightly faded black and white fleur de lys patterned wallpaper. There was a yellow smiley face spray painted on and it appeared to have bullet holes for eyes. The couch was against that wall with a coffee table, that was surprisingly bare. Under the window rested a very cluttered desk. There wasn’t an inch of it that wasn’t covered. Then there was the fire place with a skull sitting upon it, a human skull he might add, and a small pocket knife protruding out of the wood. Also there was the black well worn leather chair that Sherlock seemed to favor last night. And last but not least, the chair that John was currently resting. It was a big comfortable chair. Covered in an afghan throw. There had also been a union jack pillow, but he had tossed it on Sherlock’s chair when he had sat down. The kitchen was something else entirely. He'd actually came across a severed foot in the crisper drawer.

This flat was a conglomeration of odds and ends. He liked it here. He hoped his mistake last night didn't cost him his job. Obviously, he liked Sherlock. He wouldn't say necessarily in a romantic sense, but he was very attractive, to say the least. And a damn fine kisser. John groaned aloud shifting in the chair, attempting to adjust himself. Movement caught his attention out the corner of his eye. Sherlock was looking at him. He looked spooked. “Good morning Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock sat up. “The gunman is dead.”

“Probably poison he ingested before pulling the gun out on us.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I'm surprised you’re awake. You were up pretty late.” John commented.

“As were you. Technically I’m on as case now. Sleep is not important.”

“I don't think I need to lecture you on the importance of sleep.”

“Will you be giving the lecture as well as attending. Again, you were up rather late as well.”

“Yes well, it's not from lack of trying.”

“PTSD. And a gunshot wound. Left shoulder.”

“Although I’m sure your brother could have told you, I don't think he did. How did you know?”

“PTSD? Shot in the dark, or lucky guess either way, I was right.”

“Will that be a problem?” John asked, trying to keep the worry out his voice.

“God no. Someone that’s jumper than me is a welcome.” Sherlock gave a half hearted smile. “Anyways the gunshot wound, you rub your shoulder sometimes.”

“That’s how you knew?” John sounded mildly disappointed.

“Yes. What were you expecting?”

“A long complicated explanation on how you deduced I was shot in precisely my left shoulder.”

“Why on earth would you expect that?”

“I’ve read your blog.”

“Oh. What did you think?”

“That you’re bloody brilliant.”

Sherlock hid his smile behind his clasped hands.

“I mean, you said you could identify a pilot by his left thumb. Amongst other things, But I understand _how_ you would be able to. But it’s the fact that you are not a pilot, how would you know what to look for, also the way you explain these things makes it seem like you just know instinctively.” After a pause John added, “Know what else is brilliant Sherlock?”

“Pray tell.”

“Your smile. Stop hiding it.”

This made Sherlock blush profusely. John realizing how flirty that sounded stood up obviously flustered. “I should, uh, go get dressed.”


	4. Chapter 4

Up in his room John berated himself for his stupidity. His utter lack of judgement. First he kisses his charge last night, and what a glorious kiss it was. And then this morning, he was a complete and utter git! John jerked off his pyjamas in a tizzy. How could he fix this? John grabbed his clothes off the end of the bed. Quickly putting them on he grabbed his shoes and socks and ran back down the stairs and paused. He didn’t even have to check the flat to be able to tell that Sherlock had given him the slip. _Dammit!_

John sat in his chair pulling on his shoes and socks quickly. Grabbing his jacket to cover the holster at the small of back, he ran out the door and down the stairs.

Hailing a cab on the street John got in looking at his mobile, he gave the cab driver his destination and sat back while he contemplated the situation.

 

Sherlock was standing over a report Molly had drawn up for him on the blood work from last night's crime scene. He checked and double checked the results. Molly was hovering. He hated when she did that. “Molly are you sure this report is accurate?”

“Yes Sherlock. Quite sure. Is there a problem?”

“No, no. You’ve confirmed what I thought. Normally I would retest the blood myself to insure accuracy, but I have to -” John walked in smiling slightly.

Molly turned, looking behind her when she heard the door. “Sherlock, who is this?”

Sherlock took in John’s appearance. He was wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a blue and light green plaid button up shirt, and a light cream jumper pulled over top. He could also tell John had a holster on under his jacket and he had gotten dressed in a rush. _Yet, he_ _still looked absolutely delectable._ Glancing back to the report in front of him Sherlock had completely forgotten Molly had even spoke. John didn’t, Sherlock was fast realizing John was a very polite bloke. That could come in handy.

“Hello, I’m John Watson. A colleague of Sherlock’s.” John held out his hand to Molly who shook it automatically, because let’s face it, they were the two most polite people Sherlock knew.

“Colleague?" Molly asked incredulously, "Are, you two...dating?” she questioned, very unlike Molly to ask such a personal question while Sherlock was _still_ in the room.

Again Sherlock kept quiet. And yet again John took up the slack. “No, actually. Sherlock is already spoken for. I am his newly acquired flatmate.”

Molly turned to Sherlock, eyes full of questions, Sherlock pretended not to see. He did that a lot where Molly was concerned. Pretend.

“Spoken for Sherlock? Since when? Who?” Molly looked shocked.

Sherlock looked up from the report, not meeting anyone's gaze, “Is there a parrot in here?” And then he was back to pretending to be completely engrossed in his work.

“I’m sorry." John started, "I was under the impression that you were one of Sherlock friends and was well aware of his status of being married to his work. Bad joke on my part.”

Molly tried smiling, she failed miserably. It looked more like she was sneering or in pain. “Sherlock doesn’t have friends. Or colleagues. Which is why I thought, perhaps colleague was a euphemi-”

Sherlock suddenly interrupted. “Yes we know what you thought Molly. And you were wrong! Please don't attempt to think anymore.” He snapped. Molly looked as though she were about to burst into tears, she ran from the room.

John walked closer to Sherlock. “That wasn’t very nice. Was it?”

“I never said I was a nice person.”

“Oh god forbid. That woman is obviously smitten with you. Who knows why, considering your treatment of her.”

Sherlock sighed. John's admonishment of him actually made him feel like he should track Molly down and apologize. “I don’t normally speak to her like that. I’m far from nice to her, I am aware of her feelings towards me; but I usually, do not, talk to her in such a way. Excuse me.” Sherlock left the room, presumably to apologize to Molly.

John sat down in Sherlock’s vacated seat, reading over the report Sherlock had been reviewing. It was the blood work up from the night before. As well as blood from their would be assassin.

 

The door opened and closed about ten minutes later. “Did you catch up to her?” John asked without looking up.

“Um, I’m sorry, I was looking for Molly Hooper, I was suppose to pick her up for an early lunch.” John looked up from the report in front of him to the man who he had mistakenly thought was Sherlock returning.

“I’m sorry, who?” John asked.

“Molly Hooper. She works here…”

Just then the door opened, Sherlock strolled through the door followed by Molly.

“Oh there you are. I was just asking this fellow here where you were, but he doesn't seem to know you.”

“Yeah we only just met. Sherlock, this is Jim. And Jim the guy over there is Sherlock’s colleague, John.” John waved politely.

Jim looked at Molly wide eyed. And approached Sherlock, _this_ is Sherlock?” He asked turning to Molly for confirmation, he broke out in a huge lopsided grin. “Sherlock! It’s such a pleasure to meet you finally, Molly has told me so much about you.” Sherlock never glanced up at the man. Jim stumbled and knocked some papers over. “Sorry.” He picked them up setting them next to Sherlock on the workspace.

“Well Jim and I should be going. We’re going on a lunch date.”

“It was nice _meeting_ you Sherlock.” No response.

“Likewise.” John responded, waving again.

 

Molly and Jim left out of the lab. “Seems like a nice guy.” John spoke up.

“Molly should get rid of him.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s not for her. He’s gay.”

“Why would you say that? They’re going on a date as we speak.” John had gotten defensive on Molly’s behalf, and he didn’t even know the woman. Sherlock glanced up at John, storing that bit of info away for later.

“His manner of dress. His hair. His _groomed_ eyebrows.”

“Wait, wait. His hair? The way he was dressed? How exactly does that prove he's gay?”

“He made sure you could see the waistband of his pants above his trousers, drawing attention down. Rather he did it consciously or not is up for debate. His hair, there’s product in it, perfectly coiffed.”

“What? I put product in my hair. That's absurd.”

Sherlock looked at John pointedly. “Is it John?”

“He could be interested in both men and women. Did you think of that?”

“Either way John, he is not for Molly, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her after the little spat we just had.”

“What makes you such a good judge of rather or not Jim is a good fit for her?”

Sherlock turned to John. “He gave me his number.” Sherlock pulled the slip of paper from under the stack that Jim had purposely knocked over, handing it to John.

John looked down at it and cursed under his breath.  He passed it back to Sherlock who dropped it in the trash can by his feet. 

 

There were several minutes of drawn out silence when abruptly Sherlock turned and faced John. “How do you - no never mind.” Sherlock turned back to the papers in front of him, was silent a moment, and then back to John. “Did you read both reports?”

“Yes.

“And your thoughts?”

“After informing Lestrade of the results, we need to check out that cab.”

Sherlock smiled brightly at John. “Let’s go. The game is afoot.”

 

The men sat across from Lestrade. He was on the phone, and they were waiting for him to get off so they could fill him in and get access to the cab.

All right Sherlock, what’s so bloody important.

“The blood samples.”

“”Yeah, what about them. They don’t match like you said. Are you here to gloat?”

“No! Just listen. The blood sample from the third story window had traces of the Azalea flower,”

“Okay…”

“The same flower traces appeared in the cabbie’s blood sample. Azaleas are poisonous. Plus, the blood from the cabbie and the third story window were the same blood type. If we do a DNA test, I'm confident that they will match as well. I believe we will find a clue of some sort in the cab to lead us to another victim, possibly potential, if we are quick enough.”

“Potential? And what about the blood on the roof?”

“He means we could possibly find the next victim before they are killed.” John supplied. “And the blood on the roof, it was cow’s blood.”

 

Sherlock was pacing the small confined space, hands in front of his mouth. Turning on Lestrade he asked, “Any lead on who the victim was on the ground?” Lestrade shook his head, running a hand over his face tiredly.

Lestrade stood up, “Let’s get down to impound.”

 

As they rode the lift down to the basement level, Lestrade asked Sherlock if Molly had been the one who had did the pathology for them. Sherlock nodded that she was. Lestrade looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, trying to sound nonchalant he asked, “How is she?”

Sherlock placed his hands in his pockets and turned to Lestrade, squinting, “You’re married Graham.”

“Greg.” John corrected quietly.

“Not for much longer. We stopped being married a long time ago. This just makes it official.”

“So sorry to hear that Lestrade.”

“Yeah, well…”

Lestrade sounded absolutely despondent, and Sherlock didn’t make it any better with his lack of any kind of understanding for human emotions and decency.

“Sorry? Why on earth would you be sorry? Lestrade's wife was absolutely repugnant in the way she treated him. He should be happy to be rid of her.”

Lestrade made a choking sound. John looked at Sherlock, trying to reprimand with a silent look.

“What? Speak up John.”

 

The bell dinged notifying them that they had arrived in the basement. Lestrade couldn't have stepped out faster. He quickly went to the desk, explaining to the officer there that Sherlock and John were to be made every allowance for their investigation.

“The officer behind the desk will assist you.” Lestrade disappeared back into the lift.

John looked at Sherlock and shook his head. “Unbelievable.” he mumbled. Sherlock simply looked over his shoulder at where Lestrade had disappeared in a rush and then to John who seemed rather upset with him at the moment. That seemed to be the going trend for the day. Sherlock sighed. He guess it was only a matter of time until he came out his room one morning to find the flat just as dull and lifeless as it was before John. He’d only been there less than 24 hours and already the flat seemed brighter and more like a home. He waited until the officer had given them the keys to the cab and pointed them in the right direction to speak up.

 

“Are you angry with me John?”

“A bit, yes.” John kept his eyes forward, his jaw was clenched and his fist were balled up.

“Why, might I ask?”

John whirled on him, and in a low pitched angry voice he explained to Sherlock, what he just didn’t seem to get. “Lestrade is getting a divorce.”

“Yes.”

“He still loves and cares about his wife, regardless of how she treated him. He is hurting and you just threw it back in his face Sherlock! That was cruel and uncalled for.”

“Sentiment is a disadvantage found on the losing side.” Sherlock quoted.

A vein ticked right below John’s clench jaw. “That may very well be true, but that doesn't change the fact that Lestrade was hurting and you made it worse.”

Sherlock looked at John. And then he wasn’t seeing him at all. “That,” ahem, Sherlock cleared his throat, “that wasn’t my intention.”

John’s gaze softened. What was he gonna do with this man. He had no clue about people for all his genius.

“I’m sure Lestrade is use to you being an complete and utter dick and has already forgotten it.”

Sherlock gave a half hearted smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock unlocked the cab doors. “Okay, we’re looking for anything that looks like it belongs but is really out of place.” Sherlock popped the trunk and hood of the car as well. He started going through the glove box when he noticed John was standing with his hands in his pockets casually observing their surroundings. “John.”

When John turned his restless gaze on Sherlock, Sherlock found that his pulse had sped up and he seemed to be having difficulty speaking. He looked away, back at the glove box. Composing himself he looked back up at John who was still looking at him with good natured charm. “Are you not going to help search?” Sherlock finally managed.

“I think that is a job better suited for you. I wouldn’t know what I’m looking for. Besides, your recent actions tell me you prefer to work alone.”

Sherlock scowled at John. “What do you mean? You’re far more competent than the people I'm usually surrounded with. You read the report and understood what needed to be done next. I believe, you _would_ know what we are looking for when you saw it. Now help me look.” Sherlock turned back to his task at hand, dismissing any argument that John might propose.

 

Sherlock didn’t find anything in the glove box he was just settling on his knees outside of the car when he saw that John had gone back to his silent watch of their surroundings. Sherlock observed him unhurried for a moment. Taking in his casual stance, the way he kept his features totally relaxed and void of any strong emotions. To any outsider currently observing him, they would think he was simply staying out of Sherlock's way. Sherlock on the other hand could see in his eyes steel, and determination. His eyes never stopped taking in their surroundings. John, he noticed, had positioned himself so that no one would be able to sneak up behind him and he had a view of the whole impound.

“What Sherlock?” John asked not having even looked in Sherlock's direction.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” he was just about to make another pitch at trying to get John to help when he noticed John stiffen, and then forcibly make himself relax again.

 

“Hello freak. Who allowed you in here? Nice to see you again John.” Neither man said anything, but Sherlock was sure John had acknowledged Sally in some way, a nod perhaps, he was after all the polite one.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade knows we are here. And he gave the officer over there,” Sherlock pointed vaguely over his shoulder, “instructions to not _bother_ us and to give us anything we may need.” Sherlock had a penlight in his mouth as he searched under the passenger side seat.

“I see John has been teaching you a trick or two.” Sgt. Donovan baited. Both John and Sherlock turned their unwavering gazes at her.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked, clearly lost.

“You’re on your knees while John’s in control, just the way he likes it. I’m just saying, he must’ve taught you that.” Before Sherlock could respond, John did.

“Jealous Donovan? You never could take instruction well.” John turned away from Sgt. Donovan, silently dismissing her. Sherlock was frowning, still trying to catch up to what was going on.

“Sgt. Donovan? Were you trying to imply that John and I are shagging?”

“Well John just confirmed it.” her jaw was clenched and she gave a tight lipped smile.

“No, he asked were you jealous because you were rubbish in bed.”

Sgt. Sally Donovan looked at the two men with ice in her eyes and stormed off.

 

Sherlock stood up moving to the backseat, “She is the only person I’ve seen you be hostile towards, and even _that_ borders on being polite. Do you still have feelings for her? Like the Lestrade incident?”

John’s arms were crossed, showing his discomfort with Sgt. Donovan and or the direction the conversation had taken.

“Nope. Not at all. But she does get under my skin with her Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine.”

Sherlock went over to the driver side of the vehicle, again getting on his knees searching under the seat and in the seat pockets. Sherlock’s mobile went off. A text alert. He didn’t check it. Standing up he went to the trunk. It was mostly empty. There were tools in case of a flat, a spare tire and a raincoat. Sherlock crossed to the front of the car and looked under the hood. Nothing really jumped out at him.

John was back to observing their surroundings, hands back in his pockets, signifying his discomfort had passed.

“John, I don’t see anything out of place. Could you please have a look, just in case. Without a word John went through the same motions as Sherlock, checking the car. Except he also laid on his back and looked under the car. While he was doing that, Sherlock pulled his phone out to read the message.

**_Sherl☺ck!_ **

**_By now, I’m sure you have found the surprise I promised you. A case. I know how much you needed a fix. And btw, you look scrumptious in your dark suit and white shirt today. With your fuck me hair. In time._ **

**_Moriarty_ **

Sighing he put his phone away. John was getting up from his perusal of the undercarriage of the car.

John passed him something. It was a couple of leaves. Sherlock frowned turning the leaves over in his hand. He placed the leaves gently in his coat pocket and locked up the cab.

 

John and Sherlock entered the lift to speak with Lestrade before heading back to Bart’s to test the leaves. Entering the lift Sherlock handed John his mobile. John read the message, he then went to the contacts in Sherlock’s phone and saved his number there. Passing the phone back to Sherlock he said nothing.

“John what did you mean by my recent actions tell you I prefer to work alone?”

“You keep running off without me. It makes it a bit difficult to do my job. And I really wish you’d stop doing that. Especially knowing that Moriarty is watching you!” When Sherlock didn’t respond John pressed on. “I take my job very seriously. And you are currently my charge. If I have to tie you down in your flat to insure you don’t run off half cocked and get yourself killed I will!” John was actually shouting at Sherlock. Sherlock was shocked. He didn’t think John was capable of raising his voice. “Do I make myself clear Mr. Holmes?” John asked in a calmer voice. Sherlock nodded once and faced forward as the lift dinged and opened back on Lestrade’s floor.

 

When they got to Lestrade's office he jumped up, “What? What’s happened?”

Sherlock scowled, nothing's happened, why do you ask?”

Lestrade looked at the two men again. John looked pissed and Sherlock had looked shook up. “Um, like you said nothing. Did you find anything?”

“Just some leaves. We are going to head back over to Bart’s and test them. We will keep you posted. Good day.”

 

John and Sherlock exit The Scotland Yard. Sherlock secured them a taxi giving the driver their destination.

 

Back at Bart’s John and Sherlock went to Molly’s lab. “Oh. I didn’t expect to see you two back so soon.”

“I have to test some leaves, that is, if you don’t mind me using the lab.” Sherlock stated.

“No. Of course not.”

“Um, Molly, can I speak to you for a moment?” John asked.

“Um, sure.”

John pulled Molly to the side, close enough he knew Sherlock could hear, but further enough away Sherlock had plausible deniability.

“Um, I'm not quite sure how to tell you this. But your friend, boyfriend, um Jim, he passed me his number right before you walked in earlier.” Molly looked at him in disbelief. I threw it out in the trash bin by Sherlock. I felt really bad about not saying something earlier and I just, uh needed to tell you. I’m sorry.”

Molly teared up, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you for telling me.” She patted John’s hand and left the lab.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was the right thing to do Sherlock. I have nothing to lose, no sense in her being upset with you again.”

“Thank you. But I want to point out that you proved me right about you.”

John stepped closer to Sherlock. “Excuse me? How is that?”

“You found the leaves when I did not.” John smiled. “Or you just purposely overlooked them to draw me in.” John countered.

“No, why would I do that? I like-”

“Being right.”

“That may be, but I didn’t purposely overlook the leaves. And, I think I may know what type of leaves they are, if I'm correct, the leaves were planted there, no pun intended.”

“Well, you do your confirmatory research and I will keep watch.”

 

Several hours later the men were sitting opposite each other at Angelo’s. The owner was an ex-client of Sherlock’s; whenever Sherlock came around he gave him free meals. Tonight was no exception. Angelo came out to greet Sherlock, looking at John with obvious interest. Sherlock informed Angelo he would not be eating and told John he should order. Angelo took John’s order and then came back with a candle placing it on the table between them. “More romantic this way.” and then he was rushing off before either man could say anything.

“For a man who doesn’t have any friends, you sure are popular.” John commented as he bit into a breadstick. Sherlock watched with interest.

“In my line of work you meet all types of people. It is often good to keep those lines of communication open.”

John finished the breadstick, Sherlock turned his attention out the window.

“So what next. You confirmed the leaves were from an Azalea, which coincidentally is what killed the cabbie. How on earth are we supposed to use that to find a potential victim? Azaleas are common in Europe.”

Sherlock looking back at John, watched as he wrapped his lips around his straw, taking several sips of his water. Physically shaking his head to try and clear it of the thoughts running through his mind, Sherlock scooted closer to John so he could discuss the case without being overheard. Their legs brushed lightly underneath the table.

Sherlock lowered his voice, “Going with what we know, the victim we were led to believe jumped was the catalyst to get me on the scene. That was the reason the body was dropped twice, to create just enough doubt for me to be brought in. Once I’m there I go in the building and find the next clue leading to the next victim, using the term loosely on account that he attempted to shoot one of us.

Moving on, we get in the cab unaware that this is our next 'victim' who is driving around our next clue. The leaves. As you said-”

Angelo appeared at the table bring John’s food. “In all the time Sherlock has been coming here, you are the first date he has brought. So nice to see him happy.”

“Wait we’re not-” John began but Angelo was already walking away humming. John looked around the restaurant, taking in all the couples. Then he took a look at he and Sherlock. They were sitting close, close enough he could feel the heat of Sherlock’s body, they were talking low and intently to one another and the bloody candle. They definitely looked like they were on a date. Picking up his fork he turned to Sherlock to find the man already looking at him. “Go on, as you were saying.” John began to eat as Sherlock continued his explanation.

“As you said, Azaleas are common in Europe. So it has to be something more distinguishing about the flower. Or maybe…”

John was beginning to learn some of Sherlock’s habits and realized Sherlock was no longer explaining but thinking out loud.

“Maybe this flower _is_ the distinguishing factor about a person, our next victim. Sherlock excitedly pulled out his phone doing searches for people associated with Azaleas. Fifteen minutes later he gave a small shout of triumph!

Holding up his mobile so John could see, it was an article from a mere week ago.

**_Madam Louisa Silverstein of Harbor Alliance unveils her new variety of Azaleas._ **

John almost choked. “That’s amazing.”

“Let’s go John we have to find her before Moriarty does.” Sherlock rushes out the door, John wipes his mouth with a napkin before following suit.


	6. Chapter 6

Back at Scotland Yard Sherlock and John again sat across from Lestrade. He looked completely and utterly drained. He was running the name from the article, Louisa Silverstein. They had no clue how she would be killed or even what time frame they were working with. So they had to assume they needed to find her right away. 

 

“How on earth do we just go into this woman’s house at 9 at night and tell her someone is trying to kill her?” Lestrade questioned angrily. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re doing it, it’s gotta be done, but so help me god if you are wrong Sherlock…”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade’s unnecessary empty threat.

“Lestrade no need to worry about waking her up. I just finished reading the article that Sherlock had found. She is having a party, tonight no less, to celebrate her achievement. At her home it says.”

“Maybe I should have read the article.” Sherlock mumbled under his breath. 

John looked at him but said nothing. 

Lestrade cleared his throat. “So let’s grab Donovan and head over there.”

Both Sherlock and John rolled their eyes and sighed heavily.

“What, what did I miss this time?” Lestrade asked frustration evident in his voice. 

“Nothing. You know Sgt. Donovan and I don’t really get along.”

“Yeah, but you have never really objected to her like you do Anderson.”

“Well, that’s because since I have been bringing John along she has been particularly- acerbic.”

“Well then stop bringing him.”

“Absolutely not.” “Not a chance.” Sherlock and John said respectively at the same time.

Lestrade stared at the men suspiciously.

“Why the Hell not! It’s the simplest solution.”

“I’m helping you Lestrade, not the other way around. So we need to do this on my terms. I need an assistant. John stays.” 

John looked at Sherlock sideways. “What was he on  about now? He kept giving him the slip yet now he was arguing with D.I. Lestrade to keep him around. Sure Scotland Yard benefited from his services, but Sherlock need this as well. Why jeopardise this arrangement?

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. He knew the truth of the matter too. But he relented all the same. “Sally still comes.”

“Fine.” Both men said simultaneously.

“She’s my sergeant. She has to be present.”

“Okay.” Sherlock reiterated.

 

About 45 minutes the quad pulled up to Louisa Silverstein's house; it was substantial. Lestrade and Sgt. Donovan were standing side by side, Donovan shooting daggers at Sherlock. John had his hands in his pockets and he was none too happy with the hostility rolling off Donovan, so he stood closer to Sherlock than was necessary. The four of them discussed their plan of action.

“Lestrade and I should find Louisa. Silverstein and tell her what’s going on, since we are the ones with the badges. And John and Freak -” 

“Sally stop.” This from Lestrade.

John spoke up to break the hostile silence. “And Sherlock and I can search the house for our next clue. We have our orders let's go.” John placed his hand on the small of Sherlock's back to get him moving. The others followed and John could feel Donovan burning a hole in their backs. He smiled to himself.

 

When they reached the front door John and Sherlock stepped to the side allowing Lestrade and Donovan to ring the bell.

A lady of average beauty opened the door. “Yes, may I help you?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sgt. Donovan.” They both flashed their badges. “May we come in, we need to speak with Louisa Silverstein. It’s a matter of grave importance.”

The lady visibly paled and stepped to the side allowing the four of them to enter. “Of course, follow me to her office and I will fetch her for you.”

 

Once inside Lestrade and Donovan followed the lady and Sherlock and John fell back to begin their search. “It’ll go quicker if we split up Sherlock suggested when they were alone.”

“Absolutely not. As far as we know Moriarty could be here. Watching. Better to search together.”

Sherlock stood quietly appearing to think about what John said. “Very well.” Sherlock said starting forward towards the noise of the party. 

John went on high alert the moment Sherlock gave in without a fight, that was very unlike him.

“What do you suppose we should be on the lookout for? The other victims were seemingly unrelated.”

Sherlock stopped short of entering the party. “I’ll admit I jumped the gun on this one, I know almost nothing about the potential victim. I was in such a rush to get started. Did you learn anything noteworthy from the article?”

“Not really, although, the house doesn’t really fit what the article said about Louisa.”

“How so?”

It stated that she was a struggling botanist, and this is her first real break. I can’t see some fronting her the money when she hadn’t made a name for herself yet.”

Sherlock took in the ostentatious display of the house. It was showy, elaborate, but not new. This house was well lived in. Perhaps- “Well, let’s get to it.” Sherlock said slipping into the room full of people partying; all of them none the wiser that a murder could be among them. Sherlock looked around as he moved through the throng of people, taking in and categorizing as much as possible. He moved as quickly as possible, cutting straight to the middle of the crowd and then cutting back out to the edge. 

“Sherlo-” John tried calling out. He was quickly moving through the crowd, putting more and more distance between John and himself. _Dammit._ John knew Sherlock would try something, he just wasn’t prepared for him to throw himself in the middle of all these people. John being of much smaller stature kept being knocked about and he didn’t want to hurt anyone by shoving his way through so John stopped moving altogether.  _ Think! _ The only thing they had to go on was the leaves and the fact that John felt the house was above Louisa’s means.

 

John started back the way he came, wanting to make his way back outside. There must be a garden. And if this was really her house like the article said, _‘...throwing a celebration at her home…’_ wouldn’t she plant some of her flowers here? John found his way outside. He was in the back of the house through way of the kitchen. He looked around the back, it wasn't a well lit area, but John could see enough to see no one was out here. Nor were there any gardens or flowers. In fact no foliage to speak of. Except for a line of trees lining the edge of the property.

 

John stood there frustrated. Could Sherlock still be in the room with the party and they just accidently got separated? No. Nothing Sherlock did was accidental. 

John was heading back towards the back door when he saw a light come on in the house, turning towards it Sherlock was searching through a desk drawer. “Sherlock.” John whispered. It looked to be a home office. Of course! The _house_ was the next clue. John sent a quick text to Donovan, informing her that they found a lead and that she and Lestrade should keep a close eye on Louisa. Don't let her eat or drink anything. 

 

John set off at a run towards Sherlock’s location. He was convinced that Sherlock was in danger at every location Moriarty sent them to. John was just opening the door to the room Sherlock was in when he saw a red dot sweep across Sherlock’s chest. John hit the lights.

“What in the world?” 

The red dot steadied on Sherlock’s chest just as John lunged at Sherlock. A shot rang out. John managed to tackle Sherlock to the ground. More shots as the gunman swept the room with a round of bullets. When there was no more shots John asked Sherlock if he was okay. 

“I thinks so.”

They waited a few more minutes. John was atop Sherlock, successfully keeping him down and out of harms way. There was minimum space back here between the wall and desk.

“John, I’m sure it’s safe to get up now.” Sherlock said sounding breathless.

“You don’t understand, snipers are very patient. They have to be.”

Sherlock allowed himself to relax since they obviously was gonna be here a while. He tried not to concentrate on the feel of John above him or the feel his breath against his lips every time he spoke.

“The gunshots were bound to draw the attention of the guest, what about collateral damage?" Sherlock questioned.

“I have to trust that Lestrade will keep them away.”

 

John stared at the floor to the left of Sherlock’s head, it was dark in here but he was sure Sherlock would be able to tell if he stared at him. They were already in a very intimate position, no need to make it even more awkward by staring into each other’s eyes. 

 

Another two minutes or so had passed. “How bout now, it has to be safe now.” Sherlock tired again. John shook his head. Sherlock sighed dramatically, his breath ghosting over John’s skin. John closed his eyes briefly, fighting the urge to shiver. Sherlock began tapping his fingers against the floor and shaking his foot. 

John groaned inwardly. Each shake of his foot sent a small vibration up John’s leg and settling low in his stomach. “Do you have to fidget?” John asked. Sherlock stopped immediately. “Sorry this is a bit nerve racking.”

“Understandable.” 

Sherlock shifted his leg, resulting in John settling between his thighs. Both men froze, not moving, not even to breath. Sherlock let his breath out first, again his breath ghosting over John’s skin, but this time, Sherlock could _feel_  how affected John was by this small action. 

John got to his knees as quickly as possible, staying low. “Okay, let's try."

Sherlock stood straight up instead of staying low like John. A shot rang out instantly shattering a huge ceramic statue on the shelve next to Sherlock’s head. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand dragging him down. “STAY LOW DAMMIT!” John didn’t let go of Sherlock’s hand. “Follow my lead.” John duck walked towards the door. “When we get to the door we will be illuminated by the hall light. We have to make a dive to the side of the door out in the hall. You go first, he won’t be expecting it.” 

“But when you go he _will_ be expecting it.” Sherlock pointed out. 

“I'm aware of this. It’s my job to protect you. Now when you dive out of the room, belly crawl as far as you can down the hall. We don’t know what type of bullets he is using. They may be able to penetrate these walls.”

Sherlock nodded once, not one to waste time, he duck walked to the very edge of the threshold where the dark of this room met the light spilling over from the hall, and then he executed a perfect dive and roll through the door to the presumed safety of the hallway. A volley of shots rang out just as his feet cleared the door. 

John heard a pained “Oof.” when Sherlock landed. “You okay?” he called out. 

“Just fine.” Sherlock groaned.

That didn’t sound like he was just fine. John didn't have time to wait out the sniper. Sherlock may need medical attention. It was now or never. John felt around his surroundings looking for something, his hand touched a piece of the statue.  _ This should do nicely.  _ John threw the piece in the air and when the sniper opened fire, dived out the door.

 

Sherlock had belly crawled a decent distance, John caught up to him quickly. Sherlock wasn’t moving, he was just lying there. John called on his military training to stay calm. When he got to Sherlock he reached out a hand grasping him around the bicep, “Sherlock are you all -” John’s hand touched something warm and sticky; looking down it confirmed his worse fear. Sherlock was bleeding. He had gotten hit afterall.

“Sherlock!” John turned him over onto his back. His face was bloodied and there was a red stain spreading across his white shirt. Panicking John ripped opened Sherlock’s shirt. He didn’t see any bullet wounds.  _What the fuck?_

“You could at least take me to dinner first before ripping off my clothes.” Sherlock moaned out.

“Oh thank god.” John collapsed next to Sherlock,the adrenaline draining out of him. “What hurts Sherlock?”

Sherlock groaned. “My face and right arm.” 

John stood up and then helped Sherlock to stand as well. There was blood dripping in his eyes and John couldn't tell where all the blood was coming from. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist to help direct him.“Let’s find Lestrade and shut this place down.”

 

Sherlock and John made their way back towards the front of the house. John was relieved to see the party was still carrying on. “They must not have heard the gunshots over the music. At least that's one good thing.”

John and Sherlock continued towards the other side of the house where they saw the lady take Lestrade and Donovan. As they were rounding the corner they almost ran into the officers and the lady of the hour.

 

“What in the world happened to you two?” Lestrade shouted.

“Sniper. Back lawn. Shut this place down and stay out of the back wing.” John explained, and turning to Louisa John said, “Do you have a first aid kit ma’am?”

“Follow me.” She said. 

“Donovan call this in and I will accompany them to keep an eye on Louisa.”

“All right.” Donovan gave a passing glance at John’s arm around Sherlock’s waist and walked off.

 

“Here you go. You can use this bathroom, the first aid kit is here.” She said pointing under the cabinet. 

“Thank you.” Lestrade and Louisa started to walk off, when John called out to her. “Louisa, who owns this house, really?” 

Louisa looked down, face flaming with embarrassment. “Um, I’m not one hundred percent sure. But someone had called here the other day asking for a Lady Brighton. No first name was given.”

“Lestrade get a statement please.”

Lestrade made an annoyed face but led Louisa out, closing the door behind him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

John led Sherlock to the edge of the tub, sitting him down and taking off Sherlock’s coat and ruined shirt. Taking a white rag from the closet John ran it under warm water. “Which hurts the worse?” John asked.

“My arm. But my face is annoying. It stings and I can't see.” Sherlock whined.

“All right, quit your crying.” John joked, cupping Sherlock’s chin and began gently wiping his face with the rag. Sherlock jerked his head away.

“Ow!”

John rolled his eyes. “There are bits of ceramic splinters embedded under your skin. I have to clean the blood off, then pick the splinters out. Stop being a baby.”

 

Sherlock clenched his teeth. The feel of John’s hands on his face was distracting him from the pain a bit. John’s hands were surprisingly gentle, and soft. Sherlock let his eyes flutter close.

 

John took his time to clean each and every wound on Sherlock’s face. No matter how miniscule. John carded has right hand through Sherlock's curls, making sure there were no shards of the statue hiding. When he was satisfied he had shook loose any and all shards he ran his fingertips lightly over Sherlock’s scalp making sure none was stuck in his scalp. Sherlock sighed.

“All right Sherlock. I’m going to clean the wound on your arm first before I pull the shards out.” John ran the rag under warm water again. Gingerly he wiped over the wound. Getting most of the blood from around it, John was able to see it was a bullet wound. The bullet had torn through the epidermis and grazed the muscle below. John sighed heavily. “Wiggle your fingers Sherlock. Sherlock attempted to do as he was told but cried out in pain. “Well good news is, doesn’t look like any nerve damage. Bad news, you’re going to need stitches.

“Can't you do it John?”

“Yes, but not here. I can at home. But I would suggest you going to the hospital and getting it stitched up right away and by a professional.”

“You _are_ a professional. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand. “Please John. I don’t like hospitals.”

“You’re always at Bart’s.”

“In the labs.”

“Yeah. Fine. As soon as we get home.”

John took out a pair of tweezers. Pouring alcohol over them he cupped Sherlock’s chin again and began pulling the shards from under his skin. 10 minutes later John believed he had every bit out. Taking some cotton he poured alcohol on it to further clean the wounds to make sure no infections set in before reaching home and his medical bag.

John turned Sherlock’s head this way and that way to make sure he had took care of everything. His thumb accidently brushed Sherlock's bottom lip, causing Sherlock to inhale sharply, drawing John’s gaze down. John bent down and Sherlock closed his eyes, when nothing happened Sherlock opened his eyes to see John preparing a dressing for his arm. _Tease._

John raised Sherlock’s arm, I know your arm hurts but you will need to hold it up so I can wrap it. Sherlock was unable to keep his arm up, so John kneeled down in front of him placing Sherlock's hand on his shoulder so that it stayed steady and he could wrap his wound. Several moments pass. John was almost done wrapping Sherlock’s arm when he spoke up.

“Thank you John. For everything.”

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes, “You’re welcome.”

Sherlock leaned in before John could look away and kissed him. He brushed his lips gently across John's, the most fleeting of touches, yet he felt it all the way to his toes. Sherlock reached up with his good hand and buried it in John’s hair, kissing him more intently, holding him to him. Sherlock moaned softly. John ran his tongue along Sherlock’s lips, tracing them and when they parted he slipped his tongue inside tasting, relishing the feel of their tongues dancing around one another. John pulled away, leaning his forehead against Sherlock's, and then remembering Sherlock’s many wounds pulled completely away. John stood up and began putting the items back in the first aid kit.

 

Neither man said anything. Suddenly Sherlock exclaimed, “John, my phone.”

John without question retrieved  the mobile from Sherlock’s coat.

“Okay.”

“Send Moriarty a text. Say, we have Louisa. And we have figured out the next clue, it’s the house. Or something along those lines. We have to call him off, make sure that Louisa is save and off the list. But he has to know that we have succeeded in finding her.”

“I’m sure he knows Sherlock. He tried to kill us.”

“Send the text.”

John did as he was told and they waited for a response. John was helping Sherlock put back on his coat when the phone finally went off.

  ** _Sherlock._**

**_Tsk. Tsk. Tsk._ **

**_I’m glad you’re figuring out the clues so quickly. You aren’t cheating are you? Using John’s average intelligence to spur you along, hmmm? Maybe I should get me a soldier, someone so loyal, so quickly. Careful Sherlock, I may get jealous._ **

**_❤Moriarty_ **

John held the phone so they both could read the message together. The phone beeped again.

**_Oh, by the way Ms. Louisa Silverstein, she's safe. Perhaps you should hurry though, I hear the owner of the house hasn’t been home in quite some time._ **

**_Yours alone, M._ **

 Sherlock looked at John. He wasn’t sure if he should fire him to keep him safe, or just try to exclude him from this case. It wouldn’t matter, he had a feeling John wouldn’t go quietly. And Sherlock definitely did _not_ want to hear Mycroft’s nagging and lectures if he fired him. He’d just have to come up with ways to try and exclude John from all things Moriarty  _and_ keep him around.

John watched Sherlock. He had that look about him, the one that John was fast beginning to associate with Sherlock plotting. He was probably trying to figure out how to get rid of him. Sherlock had another thing coming, he was going to stick to Sherlock like white on rice.

 

The men met up with Lestrade and Donovan in the foyer. “Louisa is safe.” Sherlock announced. Louisa sagged with relief, Lestrade caught her around the waist to keep the woman from hitting the ground.

“You look better Sherlock, how bad was it?” Lestrade asked as he guided Louisa to a chair.

“Not bad. Just some splinters in my face and a bullet grazed my arm.”

Lestrade nodded to Sherlock’s destroyed shirt hanging over John’s arm, “That’s a lot of blood for a graze.” Sherlock shrugged and then winced.

“John how bad was it? You two were in there quite a while.”

John glanced at Sherlock quickly, "He took a bullet to the bicep. It tore through his coat and shirt, ripping through his epidermis and the first layer of muscle. But no nerve damage, thankfully.” Lestrade winced at the quick run through. “Oh, and the ceramic splinters that were embedded under his skin from the statue shattering in his face." John paused, morning Sherlock towards the door." I called a cab, Sherlock needs stitches and you have to finish wrapping up here Detective, we’ll touch base later. Good evening.” John nodded to the people present and walked out with Sherlock trailing behind him.

 

The cab was driving up when they stepped out of the house. Both men looked at each other, just a little leary to get in another cab after a Moriarty set up. Sherlock’s phone went off. John still had it in his possession. He looked at the message that came in.

**_It’s safe, I promise._ **

“Let’s go Sherlock.” Sherlock scooted in first and then John. Ding. _Another bloody message._ John was tempted to chuck the mobile out the window on their drive home.

**_I wish I could delay the next round of our little game, on account of you being hurt Sherlock. But I can’t. Not even for you. I imagine the homeowner would be delighted to meet you after such a cramped car ride._ **

**_M._ **

 

Back at 221B, John stopped in to check on Mrs. Hudson. She spied Sherlock behind John and put up a fuss. “Oh Sherlock! What happened to you? Are you okay?” Looking at John she asked “Did you get the arse who did this?”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock exclaimed.  

John smiled sadly. “Sorry, no I didn’t Mrs. Hudson. I was too busy trying to keep Sherlock alive.”

“Of course dear, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“All right Mrs. Hudson, lock up, Sherlock needs stitches, and I need to tend to it before the wound starts healing and I’ll need to cut the wound back open.”

“Good evening Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said hurriedly turning to go upstairs.

 

Sherlock sat in his chair as John locked up.

“You were joking right? About having to cut the wound back open?”

“Unfortunately I was not. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I need to go get my back. Be right back.

John came back downstairs carrying his medical bag; he had changed clothes to keep from messing them up with blood. He was now in a pair of old pyjama pants, and shirtless. Sherlock swallowed. John had a gorgeous upper body. The strength there was evident without being overly so. He was defined but not bulky. He had several old scars but they just added to the utter lickability of John’s chest. Sherlock was sure he had just made that word up. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. As John got closer he could see more tiny scars and the fun fact that John’s nipples were hard, there was a chill in the flat. Sherlock had never been happier for an errant chill. Unconsciously he licked his lips.

 

John noticed the look Sherlock was giving him, how could he not. He was boring a hole through him. John busied himself sanitizing the little tea table he would be utilizing for his supplies. Next he washed his hands, dripping water all the way from the kitchen to Sherlock. John cleaned the wound again, poking at it a bit to make sure it hadn't started to close up. Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed and gripped the armrest. John glanced at Sherlock quickly. “Sorry.” he said quietly. “Do you want a drink before I start?”  

“Yes. I think that may be for the best.”

John went and fetched a bottle of scotch he saw in the kitchen, he passed it to Sherlock. While he waited for Sherlock to get a bit in his system, John went and washed his hands again and threaded the needle. He waited a bit more, wanting that extra cushion of haze, the alcohol would provide Sherlock.

“How you feeling?”

“Slightly buzzed.”

“Okay, I'm going to start. And it will most likely hurt at first, but you must remain still.”

Sherlock held up his good hand, thumb touching his index finger, and the other 3 fanned out, the universal sign for okay.

John took a deep breath, picking up a syringe, he injected local anesthesia into the skin around the wound. This would help take the sting off the epidermis, the skin, but this anesthetic wasn’t strong enough to numb the muscle.

Sherlock took another healthy swig of the scotch and nodded his head once.

John used his right hand to hold the skin and muscle closed, with his left he inserted the needle quickly; going down deep enough to stitch the muscle and then back up through the skin. Sherlock clenched his jaw against the pain.

John couldn’t go any quicker, he needed to make sure his stitches were concise and neat. He said so to Sherlock.

“And if it’s not, will I get a lickable scar like you?” Sherlock asked, slurring his words just a bit.

John looked at Sherlock a bit shocked. Then he noticed the bottle was almost gone in a matter of 20 minutes. “Take it easy on the alcohol. If you pass out I can’t finish.” John took some gauze and mopped up some of the blood that was trickling from him stitching the wound.

The alcohol was helping with the pain, but it still hurt like Hell. Sherlock started moving his fingers. Not enough to disturb John working, but his pinky was brushing John’s abdomen each time he moved it, it helped to ground Sherlock, to separate from the pain. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of John’s skin beneath his pinky.

John bit his bottom lip when he started feeling the brush of Sherlock’s finger. He needed his wits about him. John stared at Sherlock’s face, he was in pain. But gradually the lines in his face from the pain eased, and smoothed out. John took a breath to steady himself. He didn’t have much more. He began to hum to help himself focus. He wasn’t even aware of what he was humming until Sherlock joined in with him humming. They were humming Für Elise by Beethoven. And after that John began humming Another One Bites The Dust by Queen. Sherlock surprised him by humming along to that one as well. By the end of the song John was done.

 

“All right Sherlock. I'm done.” Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, like he was having to reorient himself. His fingers were still moving. John reached up a hand and ran his thumb over a small cut on Sherlock’s jaw. “You did very good, all things considered. Although now, you’re good and drunk. Let me wrap your arm and get you to bed.”

“Dinnnnner fwrst.” Sherlock slurred.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Good thing I’m being a professional here. Because if I wanted you, I could have you.” John said staring Sherlock in the eyes.

“Pro-....prob-p….maybe.”

John wrapped Sherlock’s arm and helped him up.

“I’m sure you won’t be able to make it to your room on your own. Lean against me.” John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist guiding him to his room.

“You! Joooohn,”

“What about me?”

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and placed it over his heart. It was beating erratically. “yooou do- thattome.”

John sighed. “No Sherlock, I’m pretty sure it’s courtesy of the alcohol.” He sat Sherlock on the bed, while he sat on the floor to take off Sherlock’s shoes and socks. Once done he stood up, tucking Sherlock in under the covers.

“Swuch a genwlmwen.”

John chuckled. “Good night Sherlock.”

“‘Night Johnnn.”

John turned out the lights and pulled the door to.

In the sitting room he cleaned up all his supplies and blood. Taking his medical bag upstairs, he returned with his pillow and blanket. He was going to sleep on the couch in case Sherlock needed help during the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor John. Rough night, rougher day.

John kept getting up every other hour to check on Sherlock. To make sure he didn't open his stitches back up. Also to make sure he wasn't lying in bed miserable because he needed help and John didn't hear him.

 

When Sherlock came stumbling out at an ungodly hour, especially considering the night's festivities, John groaned out loud.

 

Sherlock looked over at the couch, John appeared to be laying there. He lifted his right hand automatically, forgetting about his injury, attempting to wipe a hand over his face, he cried out in pain. John was immediately up and by his side. Sherlock opened his eyes after having closed them against the pain. John was a sight to behold. Still shirtless, _thank god,_ his hair was all mussed and his face was lined with concern. Using the correct hand this time Sherlock ran his hand over his face. Squinting at a frowny John he inquired, “Have you been up all night?” 

 

John determining Sherlock was fine shuffled tiredly back to the couch, collapsing down on his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “How are you even up?” he mumbled.

Sherlock stumbled over to the couch and plopped down almost right on top of John’s pelvis, as it was, he fell on John’s lower thighs.

John adjusted one leg to accommodate Sherlock, he didn't have the energy to fight him this morning.

Sherlock reclined back and leaned in the opposite direction of John, still cradled between his legs. “Oooh my head hurts. Why did you let me drink that whole bottle?”  Sherlock groaned.

“It was only a fifth of scotch and I _did_ warn you to take  it easy.”

“Well I can’t afford to be down. You saw Moriarty said we have a timeline. The woman’s life is at risk.”

“Woman?”

“Yessss.” Sherlock sounding extremely put out. “Louisa said someone called for a Mrs. Brighton” He explained.

Sighing, John lifted his head off the couch to look at Sherlock. “Don’t laugh Sherlock, but all the other victims or potential victims they kind of, sort of overlapped. Moriarty said the homeowner would be happy to see you after such a cramped car ride. Someone who owns that house could easily afford car service or have a nice car already. Why would they take a cramped car ride _unless_ they had been kidnapped?”

“Of course she’s been kidnapped. Do you really think she went willingly to her death?” Sherlock said snidely.

“Wait, I'm not done.”

“Course not.” Sherlock smirked.

“My thinking is," glaring at Sherlock, John interrupted himself, "I mean it, don’t you bloody laugh! I've been up all night looking after you and I'm fucking tired!” John fussed.

Sherlock gave John a blank face of innocence.

“Anyways. What if, the homeowner was somehow placed in the boot of the cab we were in last night? I mean right under our noses.”

 

Sherlock sat up swiftly and then groaned, he had to place a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. When the vertigo had passed, he looked at John seriously. “That is actually brilliant. It would have been simple enough. Neither of us own a car. It’s an easy deduction that we would have called for a cab. Moriarty would only have to intercept the cab, he already knew where we were. Dammit!”

John laid his head back down. Feeling slightly smug that he had an idea that the great Sherlock Holmes hadn’t thought of first and Sherlock had thought it was brilliant.

“Do you remember the cab number or the plate number John?” Sherlock asked frantically.

“What?”

Sherlock scrambled up laying atop John, taking John's face between his hands and staring at him intently. “Think John! Think! Try to remember the cabbie’s number or tag number, frankly either will work!”

John covered Sherlock’s hands with his own trying to gently pry his hands away. “Sherlock! Stop it.”

“Can you remember?”

“No but I can show you.”

Sherlock let go abruptly. “Really? How?”

John slid a hand in his pyjama pockets pulling out his phone. Every time I call for a cab, I get a text message stating pick up location, estimated time of arrival and the cabbie’s car number.” He showed Sherlock the screen. Elated, Sherlock grabbed John's face again and kissed him quickly on the lips, and hopping up off the couch. He wobbled at first, but quickly regained his wits about him. “Let's go John! We need to get to Scotland Yard right away.”

John watched as Sherlock stumbled to his room, left arm outstretched to help him keep his balance. It was comical. Groaning John grabbed his pillow and blanket, taking them back upstairs. He needed to get dressed.

 

John was almost done getting dressed when he heard Sherlock shouting for him. Grabbing his shirt, jacket and gun he ran down the stairs. “Sherlock? What-” John had to fight back a laugh. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the sitting room trousers on, but unbuckled; his dress shirt was on, but only the right arm was in the shirt and he was holding his suit jacket in his left hand. His socks and shoes were at his feet. John was positive Sherlock still had alcohol in his system, he hadn’t eaten anything for at least two days; and he only had a handful of hours sleep. Poor thing, on top of his sobriety being in question, he was having trouble dressing himself on account of his right bicep being injured. In hindsight, John supposed he should take Sherlock to the hospital to get him a sling for his arm, it'll help get it immobile and heal quicker.

“Joooohn, help me please.” Sherlock said miserably.

Taking pity on Sherlock, John helped him finish getting dressed. He brought the shirt up so Sherlock could put his left arm through. He made quick work of the buttons, making sure to keep his face blank and not show any interest in all that exposed creamy goodness.

“All right. I suppose we didn’t quite think this through Sherlock, you’re going to have to wear your shirt loose. I wouldn't wear the suit jacket with that style though.”

“John I can’t go into Scotland Yard looking like the town crazy. I have to look the part of a consulting detective. You’re just going to have to tuck my shirt in.”

John sighed heavily. Taking his left hand he stuffed the shirt into the front of Sherlock's trousers, freezing immediately. “You’re not wearing any pants!?”

“I like the freedom. Just tuck the shirt in quickly, you’ll barely notice.”

John began tucking the shirt in in a rush, his fingers brushing over bare skin.

“Gentle.” Sherlock scolded.

John mumbled under his breath.

When Sherlock was all tucked in and zipped up he helped him into his suit jacket. “Sit down so I can do your shoes and socks.” John ordered.

Sherlock sat in his chair and John in his. John grabbed one one ankle, resting Sherlock's foot on his knee while he rolled the sock on and then put the shoe on tying it. He repeated the process with the other foot. “All right, let's go.”

Sherlock texted Lestrade once they were in the car.

“Why don't you just call him? It would guarantee he’ll be there by time we show up.”

“I prefer to text.”

John rested his head against the window. Closing his eyes briefly.

Sherlock turned so he could look at John. He admittedly had alcohol in his system still but he knew not all the thoughts currently running through his head could be blamed on alcohol. For instance, sober or not, he wouldn’t mind allowing John to sleep in his arms as opposed to the hard window. And now that he thought about it, John said he stayed up all night checking on him. He was pretty sure that was above and beyond the call of duty. Maybe he had done that was on account of him being a doctor.  But honestly, he didn’t care the reason why, it just felt nice having someone care about him and his well being.

 

When they reached Scotland Yard, Sherlock was loath to have to wake John up. But wake him up he must. He shook John with his good hand, “We’re here John.”

John jumped startled. “Sorry bout that.”

Sherlock gave a small smile. “It’s quite all right. You _were_ up all night playing nursemaid.”

 

John passed the driver a couple of bills and scooted out the car followed by Sherlock. John yawned and stretched on the curb. Turning his body to the right then left to work out the kinks in his back. As he turned to the left he noticed the number on the cab, it was the same one from last night. The cab had been driving off when John had noticed, he now took off running behind it. The cab was picking up speed, he began shouting and waving his hands as he ran. Absently he heard Sherlock calling to him. The cab driver must have saw him in the rearview mirror and brought the cab to a stop. John caught up to the vehicle breathing heavy. “I...need...you...to...open the...boot.”

“What?”

“Open the damn boot!”

“Okay, okay.”

John walked to the back of the car, praying that he had been wrong and if he was right, that they had reached the person in time. John pushed the boot of the car open and nearly sagged in relief. There was an elderly woman tied and gagged in the car.

 

But, she didn’t look up at him as most people would do when the light from outside hit them. The cab driver had gotten out of the vehicle to see what John was doing. When he rounded the back of the car he saw the woman tied up in the back. He started stuttering and explaining he didn't know how she got in there, but John heard none of it. He hadn’t seen the woman take a single breath. He needed to check her pulse. Swallowing nervously, he reached out, gingerly placing two fingers against her wrist; there was no pulse. Frantically he tried finding a pulse in her neck, still nothing.

“Is she - dead?” the cabbie asked.

 

There was a roaring in John’s ears, his vision dimmed, it looked Like he was viewing The world through a tunnel, and he couldn’t breathe. John fell to the ground, vaguely he heard Sherlock talking to him and the cabbie still trying to explain. The woman was dead. Mrs. Brighton was dead. The next potential victim- was...dead. It was all his fault.

 

“John! John! Speak to me John, are you all right? John!” Sherlock kept trying to get through to John, he seemed to be in shock. Police and emergency vehicles were arriving on the scene. A paramedic shoved Sherlock out of the way not knowing he had an injured arm but thinking John was injured. Lestrade approached Sherlock.

“What happened? What’s wrong with John?”

“I believe he is in shock. The woman in the boot of the car, she was the next victim. She died.”

“But your text said you needed to track down the cab from last night that she may be in _that_ car.”

Sherlock gesticulated towards the cab, “That’s the same cab! John noticed the number when we arrived here and chased down the car.”

“Bloody Hell.” Lestrade swore under his breath, wiping a hand over his face and then through his hair. Squatting down beside Sherlock and John, Lestrade placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “John, John; we need you to pull yourself together, help us put this maniac away.”

John stared out, not seeing, just blinking repeatedly. A paramedic had taken his blood pressure and checked all his vitals, they were now placing a blanket around John’s shoulders. “Why do they always put a bloody blanket on you when they think you’re in shock?” Sherlock asked to no one in particular.

“Because your body temperature plummets when you’re in shock.” John answered, blinking slowly. He looked up to see Sherlock and Lestrade kneeling next to him. Looking around he asked, “Did I faint? I don’t remember sitting down.”

“You’ve had a bad shock John.” Lestrade explained.

John rubbed a hand over his face roughly and then looked Sherlock in the eyes, “It’s all my fault. I killed her.”


	9. Chapter 9

Lestrade looked to Sherlock, alarm written all over his face. “ What does he mean, he killed her?”

Sherlock gave Lestrade a droll look, and shook his head. “John come on let's get you home.” John continued to stare out at nothing.

 

Lestrade stood up and motioned Sherlock over to him. “Sherlock, who do I arrest, John or the cabbie?”

“I don’t believe the cabbie did it but you might want to take him into custody and question him. Also, impound this cab and have your people go over it with a fine tooth comb. Anything that seems weird, out of place categorize it, set it to the side until I can look at the items and determine which is the clue. As for John,” Sherlock lowered his voice, “John had nothing to do with her death. He is blaming himself because _he_ was the one that had thought of the possibility of her being in the boot of the car, but not until this morning. He feels like if he had just acted quicker she would be alive. He didn’t kill her, nor is it his fault. Furthermore, I’m not a specialist, but she appears to have been dead well over 24 hours, which means we couldn’t have saved her anyways.”

“All right, take him home. Keep an eye on him. I know that look Sherlock, I’ve seen it in the eyes of some of my men, when they have just seen one too many horrible things.”

“I will.” Sherlock promised.

 

Lestrade helped John stand. John looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time, he even looked at the blanket as a foreign object with the bubonic plague. John started walking. Sherlock ran to catch up. They passed Anderson and Donovan, Sally tried getting John’s attention but he kept walking. Suddenly, John stopped and ran back to the cab. He stood over the elderly woman’s body, looking at her, taking in everything he could. “Can someone remove the body? And take pictures of her exactly as she is now.” John stepped to the side allowing the police to do their job. When they were done John took in the boot of the car. It was completely clean. Cursing he went through the entire car, again completely clean. And as a last resort, John got on the ground looking under the car like the last time. Nothing. “Dammit!” John screamed in frustration.Sherlock went to him trying to put his good arm around his shoulders, John shrugged him off roughly. Sally was standing next to Lestrade. She smiled.

“Uh oh. Looks like there’s trouble in paradise Freak.” Sherlock turned to make a biting retort, but John beat him to it.

“Shut up Sally! Just fucking shut up! You’re such a bitch and you have always been a bitch. There is a wo-” John paused trying to calm down and get his breathing under control. “There is a woman dead not two feet away from you and all you care about is hurting a _living_ , human being? _What_ the actual fuck is wrong with you? Why are you like this?” John stared at Donovan for a full minute. She said nothing. She crossed her arms and clenched her teeth. John addressed Lestrade in a calmer tone. “I’m- I’m sorry mate. Who ever does Mrs. Brighton’s autopsy, please have them look for anything odd. Anything.” Grabbing Sherlock about the wrist, pulling him away from the scene. He hailed another cab and had Sherlock get in first.

“Where are we going?”

“Hospital. You need a sling.”

Sherlock looked at John with new respect. He was bloody hurting, yet he still took the time out to try to take care of others. “It’s okay John. I’ll make a sling at home. Let’s go there instead.”

“Sherlock -”

“No, it’s final. 221B Baker Street please.” Sherlock announced to the cabbie.

 

Back home John immediately started helping Sherlock out of his suit jacket, cursing when he saw blood seeping through the dressing. John jogged upstairs getting his bag. Back downstairs he ordered Sherlock to sit down. He unbuttoned his shirt and gently peeled it off. John cleaned the wound and checked the stitches, they hadn’t burst back open, the wound was just bleeding. That was good news. John redressed the wound; taking a tee shirt He had brought down with him, he cut it fashioning a sling out of it and placing Sherlock’s arm in it. John packed his supplies back up and then took Sherlock's shirt to the kitchen. He placed the shirt in a sink full of cold water, peroxide and salt, leaving it to soak. He walked back to the sitting room collapsing back on the couch again with his arm over his eyes. Sherlock got up and closed the curtains and turned out the light.

“I'm not sleep Sherlock, just thinking.”

“Well you need sleep.”

“You need protecting.”

“We’re home, if someone was to break in here I have no doubt you would immediately rouse and come to my aid.”

“Why hasn’t Moriarty texted you yet Sherlock? He always text after the…” John trailed off.

Sherlock reached into his pocket pulling out his phone. He had two messages. Moriarty. He must’ve accidently put it on silent. Walking over to John he sat in between his thighs again, like he’d done that morning. He rather liked sitting that way with John.

John still had his arm over his eyes, “Bugger off Sherlock.”

“My phone was on silent. I have two messages. Want to read them?”

John sat up, Sherlock was completely surrounded by John. It was not good for his thinking process.

“Text Sherlock.” John prompted  obviously irritated.

“Yes, of course.” Opening his phone he went to the messages.

**_Sherlock!_ **

**_And John…_ **

**_Tough luck not getting to Mrs. Brighton in time. :( Alas, these things happen. People die!_ **

**_Better luck next time. :)_ **

**_Moriarty_ **

And the next message.

**_Hello again Sexy!_ **

**_I love this little game we’re playing. It_ ** **_is_ ** **_a game, you do know that, right?_ **

**_And as with all games, there can only be one winner._ **

**_Unfortunately, Daddy's been called away on business. We shall pick up when I return._ **

**_Until then…_ **

**_❤Moriarty_**

After John finished reading he plopped back down, arm back over his eyes.

Sherlock heard a sniffle. “John, you _do_ realize it wasn’t your fault?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Get some rest. We have nothing to rush off to.”

 

The next couple of months flew by. John and Sherlock had developed a sort of easy routine. Sherlock took minor cases always waiting for Moriarty to show back up; John accompanied him on these cases. Sherlock continued to try and give him the slip, but John always found him; he still wasn’t sure how he always managed to do so. It wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t want John there, it was just that things weren't the same as they had been those first couple of days after meeting John. This was Sherlock's way of getting attention _and_ lashing out at John.  

 

There was no more stolen kisses between Sherlock and John; that had all stopped the day Mrs. Brighton had died. John still refused to talk about it, even after they had found out from the autopsy that she had actually been deceased for 48 hours at the time John had found her body. No amount of effort would have allowed John to save her.

 

John had brought a few women home, and Sherlock innocently did what he could to make it as awkward for the women as possible. Most of them didn’t come around a second time.

 

Sherlock continued to use any excuse to touch John, who didn’t seem to mind, he rarely complained. In fact, he rarely even talked to Sherlock unless he needed info. But, not everything was bad, they had a nightly routine of sitting on the couch together reading or surfing the net. John laid back, with Sherlock sitting cross ways, nestled between John’s thighs; just like they had all those months ago. They didn’t talk, just sat there, each doing their own thing. But Sherlock woke up every morning craving that one moment that served as a bittersweet reminder of what he almost had.

 

Tonight was no different. They were nestled on the couch, properly ignoring one another, when Sherlock just had to know. “I thought you were going out with Sarah? No, wait, Monica? Whatever her name is.”

John looked up from the crossword puzzle he was doing. “I cancelled. You’ll just run her off anyways. I’ve decided for the rest of my tenure here I would concentrate on my job and not attempt to date.”

“But the position is intended to be long term, no foreseeable end.”

John shrugged and went back to his crossword.

 

There was a quick knock at their door accompanied by a “Woohoo, boys,” It was Mrs. Hudson, “You have a visitor.” Both pair of eyes shifted to the door to see who had come, it was Lestrade. John went back to his crossword and Sherlock feigned disinterest, going back to his book. “All right, I’ll leave you boys to it.” Mrs. Hudson retreated back downstairs.

 

Lestrade made no comments about Sherlock and John’s sitting arrangement. He had had plenty of time to grow accustomed to it. He did ask originally, of course. He'd asked if they were dating, John said no. He asked why did they sit like that, Sherlock said it was comfortable. He thought it very weird for two grown men who were not dating or shagging to sit in that manner. But who was he to judge. Besides, he was about to ruin their quiet night in. Sighing, Lestrade got on with it. Taking an envelope out of the inside of his coat pocket he held it out to Sherlock. “This came for you at the precinct.” Sherlock and John both looked at the envelope.

John had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Sherlock opened it with a mix of trepidation and excitement. Taking the folded paper out, he looked to John, making eye contact. He was suddenly nervous. John sat up, his breath ghosting over Sherlock's arm. Lestrade looked at them speculatively. Sherlock unfolded the paper still holding eye contact and then leaned closer to the other man so they could both read _._

**_Sherlock!_ **

**_I know I’ve been away for a long time, hope you didn’t miss me too much. Or doubt that I would be back; Daddy will_ ** **_always_ ** **_come back for_ ** **_you_ ** **_._ **

**_I hear there has been a break between you and your soldier. So sad. But you still have me. I’ll be in touch soon sexy._ **

**_Oh! I almost forgot. So sorry for the impersonal delivery of this message. But it was imperative that Scotland Yard knew I was BACK! And ready to play again._ **

**_X❤X❤X❤_ **

**_Moriarty_ **

Lestrade looked expectantly at Sherlock once he had folded the paper again and placed it back in the envelope. John's head rested against Sherlock’s shoulder, he seemed to be breathing rapidly. _Not dating my arse._ Sherlock was rubbing his thumb absently over John's wrist. “So, is this the sort of rubbish you were getting before Sherlock? Is it the same guy, Moriarty?”

“Yes. It appears the game is back on.”

“I trust you’ll let me know when he contacts you again?”

“Yes, of course I will.”

Lestrade walked to the door, leaving, “Hey Sherlock,” Sherlock looked up, “be careful.”

“Don’t be silly Lestrade, I have my soldier here with me I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Lestrade frowned and shook his head, _He didn’t bloody understand them two._

 

Lestrade left the flat. Sherlock and John settled back into their respective spots. Sherlock stared at John, and John, he was staring straight up at the ceiling. Sherlock was concerned about how John would act with Moriarty being back. It was a little rough for a couple of weeks right after the Mrs. Brighton incident. John had drank heavily when he was considered off duty. Drank and worked out. Slowly John found his way out of that dark hole, but he wasn’t the same. Gone was the easy going, smile always at the ready John. In his place was a stoic, no nonsense hard arse who only cared about doing his job. “John,” Sherlock said quietly, “You don’t have to do this case with me. I can let you out of your position.”

John looked at Sherlock then. “No. We need to finish this. We need to put him away.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter

Sherlock was pacing in his room. He was incredibly nervous. He had looked forward to the day that Moriarty came back; not simply because he was capable of playing this game as an equal with Sherlock, but also so he could beat him at his own game and put him away. 

But if he was perfectly honest with himself, now that the time had arrived, he found that he was far more concerned with John's mental state. He had come so close to losing him completely in the months that had followed Moriarty disappearing, that Sherlock would rather be bored than be faced with the prospect of something happening to John. John said he was fine and he wanted to help take out Moriarty, but the simple fact that he still refused to talk about it was one sign that John wasn’t quite over the whole debacle. He needed to drive home the fact that John’s job was to look out for him and it was his own responsibility to beat Moriarty and see him behind bars. 

Sherlock felt the sudden burning need to address this with John. Each man lost in their own thoughts, had retired to their own room not long after Lestrade left. Sherlock now made his way up to John’s room. He’d never been up here, not even before John had moved in. 

Sherlock knocked tentatively at John's room door. Sherlock waited. Nothing. Perhaps he was asleep. Sherlock was walking away when John opened the door, turning back to face John, he took in the other man's appearance. He was shirtless and wearing gym shorts, sweat glistening on his skin. Sherlock licked his lips and swallowed around the sudden lump that had formed in his throat.

“I, uh...wanted to speak to you if you don’t mind.” Sherlock made a move to turn and leave uncertain of himself.

“Come in Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave John a sideways glance as he stepped past him. 

Sherlock took in John’s room quickly. There was a bed and and workout equipment, not much else. John walked back over to the weight bench and laid down on it resuming his workout. There was nowhere else to sit so Sherlock perched on the edge of John’s bed, unconsciously leaning forward watching John. 

“Talk Sherlock.” John hissed out between reps.

“Yes, of course. I wanted to make sure you were clear on what our roles are in this...case.”

John placed the bar back in it’s niche and sat up looking at Sherlock. “Our roles?” 

Sherlock heard the anger creeping into John’s voice. He swallowed again, not out of fear, but nervousness. He didn’t want to further alienate John, he was simply trying to make it easier, simpler on John. Clearing his throat Sherlock forged on. “Yes. In all things Moriarty. I am the one responsible for taking Moriarty out. You only have to watch my back. I don’t want you to feel-” 

John stood up and walked to stand in front of Sherlock. He glared down at him anger clearly burning in the depths of his eyes.

“I- I didn’t want you to feel responsible or obligated in anyw-” Sherlock again stopped talking when John stepped even closer, legs brushing lightly against Sherlock’s. 

“Responsible? Obligated?  _ Roles? _ ” John sneered the last word. 

“Look John. I meant nothing by that. I just wanted to try and make things easier for you? I was trying to look out for your best interest. I’m…” Sherlock paused, struggling to get his nerve up, “I’m sorry if I offended you or caused any other negative emotions. I- I care about you John. And I just want to look out for you.” Sherlock finished quickly.

“And what do you think I’m trying to do? Keep. You. Safe. Moriarty is dangerous. He’s a danger to you and everyone else that he feels he can use as a pawn. I realize that the- that Mrs. Brighton was dead when Moriarty put her in the boot of that cab. And it angers me. It pisses me off to no end, his utter disregard for life. 

I still stand by my original statement that you and Moriarty are a lot alike. But the differences are glaring. You both are so insanely intelligent, it alienates you and makes you lonely. You spend all your time solving problems and cases and puzzles. And in Moriarty's case, causing them, seeing how clever he can be causing mischief and grief. You both need constant mental stimuli.” These words were hissed with anger. 

Sherlock didn’t speak. He looked away from John feeling exposed and a lot like a monster. 

John began speaking again. Voice pitched low. “When he gets tired of playing with you, _and he will_ , he doesn’t care about you, his words are just a ploy to draw you in. When he gets tired of you, he will kill you.” John punctuated each word, hoping to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

 

Sherlock looked up at John, he saw the anger there and a glimmer of _his_ old John. Maybe he wasn’t completely lost to him after all. 

“I  _ am _ aware of this John. Do I enjoy the thrill of this game? Yes! Do I want people hurt for the sake of appeasing my boredom? No! I am playing the game to catch Moriarty. If I thought Scotland Yard could catch him I would drop the case in a heartbeat.” John raised a skeptical brow at Sherlock’s words. Sherlock saw, and stood up angrily, causing John to have to take a half step back. “I would!” Sherlock insisted, placing a hand lightly against John’s cheek. “In a heartbeat, for your safety.” He finished softly. 

John covered Sherlock's hand with his own, bringing their hands down to rest at their sides. “And that is why I need to stay on and see this out to the end.” Sherlock entwined his fingers with John’s. “I can’t allow myself to get distracted.” John said none too convincingly as he squeezed Sherlock’s hand. 

 

Understanding dawned on Sherlock’s face. John's shoulders sagged with relief. Reaching his free hand up he stroked along Sherlock’s jaw wrapping his fingers around his chaotic curls. Stretching up, he intended to only brush a light kiss against Sherlock’s lips, but the moment their lips touched, John forgot about everything. He forgot why why he was keeping Sherlock at arms length, he forgot about all the women he tried to lose himself in. He even forgot about the threat of Moriarty for a moment. Everything except for the feel of the man in front of him. Sherlock moaned against his lips, a soft purring that begged John to take more. John sucked Sherlock's bottom lip into his mouth, nipping lightly at it, he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between Sherlock's parted lips, stroking, rolling their tongues together. 

Sherlock grabbed John’s gym shorts pulling him firmly against him, he aggressively kissed John back, trying to make up for lost time. Their teeth clicked forcibly rewarding Sherlock with a low guttural moan from John. They made out for several more minutes, touching, grinding and kissing one another. When it became absolutely imperative to breathe, John pulled away, Sherlock held onto him, flicking his tongue against John's parted lips, trying to entice him into more breathless kissing. 

John took several steps back, trying to catch his breath. Sherlock whimpered.

 

“Sherlock, stay with me tonight.” Sherlock's eyes got big. John chuckled, “Just sleep.” John clarified.

“I would be delighted to.” 

John smiled, “Okay. First, I need to go shower.” 

 

John went and jumped in the shower while Sherlock prepared for bed. He was already in his pyjamas, he grabbed his mobile and his own pillow from his room. Trekking back upstairs he turned out all the lights except the hallway so John would be able to see where he was going when he got out of the shower.

 

Sherlock was lying on his left side facing the door, when John entered his breath caught. His upper body was still dripping wet from the shower. His bottom half was clad only in a towel. Sherlock wet his lips.

 

John walked over to his chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of pants and pyjama bottoms. John pulled the towel off giving Sherlock a first class view of his firm arse. Sherlock bit his bottom lip as he watched water trickle down the center of John’s back, disappearing between the crack of said delectable arse. 

John ran the towel quickly and efficiently over his body drying it. When he bent over at the waist to dry his calves and feet he heard Sherlock's sharp intake of breath. He knew Sherlock had been watching him. He could feel the other man's eyes roaming his body. He pulled his pants and pyjamas bottoms on and climbed in the bed behind Sherlock. Cuddling up against his back, he lowered his head and kissed the scar on Sherlock’s bicep. Reaching up and across Sherlock, John turned out the light on the side table. Placing a final kiss against Sherlock’s neck, John w rapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and said goodnight.

 

A light shining in his face woke John up. He raised a hand to block the light. 

Sherlock realizing he woke up John lowered his mobile phone. “Sorry John. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s okay. What time is it? Everything all right?”

Sherlock lifted his phone up again so John could see the screen. John first took in the hour, it was after 4 in the morning; then he realized there was a message displayed on the screen. 

**_Sherlock,_ **

**_I abhor lies. I don’t want there to be any lies between you and I, so I must come clean._ **

**_It wasn’t an accident I came to know you, and I_ ** **_do_ ** **_know you._ **

**_Mycroft_ ** **_introduced_ ** **_me to you; well, in a sense. And honey, I have never been more pleased with a gift from the British Government. Mycroft has really outdone himself this time._ **

**_*Kisses, Moriarty_ **

 

Sherlock was shaking slightly. John didn’t think Sherlock was aware of it. He took the phone out of Sherlock’s hand and placed the screen face down on the side table. “Come here.” he whispered. Sherlock turned in John’s arms, allowing himself to be held. John rubbed his hands up and down Sherlock's back and arm. Placing kisses randomly against his jaw, lips, chin, forehead, shoulder, anywhere he could touch without letting John go.  

“Why? Why would Mycroft do that?” Sherlock asked, voice sounding small and muffled against John’s chest.

“Shh, we will confront Mycroft in a few hours. Sleep love.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm back! After a week long of Gishwshes with the Supernatural Fandom I have missed this story. I managed to squeeze out a short chapter during the week but now I get to delve back in! As always, kudos and feedback is welcomed and enjoyed.

Sherlock sat in his chair, legs crossed, hands steepled. He was the picture of cool, calm and collected. But inside he was a bloody mess. John sat across from him in his own seat. He pretended to be reading the morning paper while Mycroft stood between the two of them near the fireplace.  
  
  
  
“For what reason have you summoned me here brother mine?” Mycroft questioned leaning on his umbrella. He hardly ever sat when he visited their flat. Sherlock continued to ignore Mycroft. Turning to John he said, “John would you be so kind as to tell me why I am here. I do have other things to tend to today; other than a temper tantrum thrown by my baby brother.”  
  
“Sorry Mycroft, I haven't the foggiest.”  
  
“We both know that isn't true. You always know. Even when my brother doesn’t tell you. Now one of you please tell me what is going on.”  
  
  
  
Sherlock who had been staring ahead, and pass John, into the kitchen perhaps, finally turned to his older brother. “I'm not sure you have the right to call me brother anymore. I mean how can you even stand to look at yourself in the mirror? And don’t say you don’t stand in front of mirrors admiring yourself and the 3 and a quarter pounds you've put on,"  
  
"It's only a half pound." Mycroft insisted.  
  
Sherlock continued as Mycroft hadn't spoken. "you’re vain, so of course you stare in the mirror. But how do you stand to?”  
  
“What on earth are you talking about Sherlock? Have you finally gone mad?” To John he said, “Has he been taking anything?”  
  
“No p e. Perfectly sober.”  
  
“You sold me out to Moriarty! And don't you deny it, he told me!” Sherlock shouted, finally allowing his anger to leak through.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mycroft denied.  
  
“Oh reallllly, and you expect me to believe that Mycroft? You are the British Government! He told me that I was the best gift that he has ever received from the British Government after all. He would have never knew about me had it not been for you !” Sherlock wasn’t quite yelling  anymore but his voice was still raised with anger. John continued to act as if he was reading the paper. Mycroft had gone silent.  
  
“We needed something to keep him preoccupied, while we made moves to take him out. And you were particularly restless at the time, and driving me crazy I might add. I was sure you could handle him. That the two of you would keep one another busy. It never occurred to me that he was more disturbed than he let on. Or that he would become obsessed with you and start killing people to impress you.” Mycroft explained quietly  
  
“He’s a psychopath, that’s what they do.” Sherlock interjected under his breath.  
  
“When I realized what a danger he was to you, I took precautions.”  
  
“Precautions? You thought Moriarty was a big enough threat to England, but thought no harm could possibly come to me. Bravo brother, the award for dumbest Holmes brother goes to you. What kind of precautions could you possibly have taken against this psychotic, megalomaniac?” Sherlock sneered.  
  
“I gave you John!” Mycroft shouted pointing at John.  
  
John looked up at Mycroft, murder in his eyes. Standing up, John cuffed his hands at his sides, a visible struggle to get his temper under control. “You purposely, exposed me to that...that mad as a hatter murder! And I know Sherlock can fight his own battles, but I can't believe you really sold out your little brother. Like some two cent floozy decoy.”  
  
John wasn’t yelling, he was doing that thing that he did when he was close to snapping. Head tilted down, speaking very, low and intently. Sherlock recognized John's reaction for what it was. Mycroft would do well not to say anything else stupid. “John it’s all right we’ll -” Sherlock attempted to defuse the situation.  
  
John turned to Sherlock, “It's not all right!” He yelled this, Sherlock was safe. As long as John was yelling the person who had earned his ire was safe. But the moment his voice dropped into that growl, Sherlock knew that person had better hide.  
  
“Quite right John. I knew you could handle yourself and keep my brother safe. I did my research.” Mycroft tried to reason.  
  
John chuckled humorlessly. Sherlock reached for John but it was too late, John swung his fist back and connected it with Mycroft’s jaw. Mycroft fell into the fireplace, catching himself on the mantel before he could go down.  
  
Sherlock jumped between John and Mycroft, holding John back with a simple raise of his hand. “I want you to leave Mycroft. We’ll handle this without the help of the British Government. Or family.”  
  
Mycroft rubbed his jaw, gathering his umbrella that had been knocked from his hand. He gave the men one final look and walked across the room and out of the flat.  
  
John was shaking, hands balled into fist. “I can't believe your idiot brother! I seriously was giving him the benefit of doubt, thinking Moriarty was just pulling your leg. But this...this makes me so angry.”  
  
Sherlock pulled John into an embrace. “I should’ve hit him harder Sherlock.”  
  
“I think you hit him plenty hard. Now let's not cry over spilled milk. What are we doing with the rest of our day?”  
  
Before John could reply the door to their flat opened. A man walked in wearing an extremely expensive suit. He looked around the room, hands in his pockets. He said nothing to either man as he took in their flat. “I like your flat Sherlock, it's very welcoming.”  
  
“Jim? Molly’s...whatever you were.” Sherlock asked.  
  
“Yesss. I left you my number. Thought you might call.” Jim made a face, appearing to be sad. Did you enjoy that bit?” He said perking up. “Me playing gay for you?”  
  
“Moriarty.” John said through clenched teeth.  
  
“Very good John. So the soldier has brains as well. To be fair Sherlock, had you just kept my number you would have seen that the number was the same as the one I use to send you text.” Moriarty shook his head disappointedly. “I see you and John here have made up and all it took was to find out your only living brother sold you out. You're welcome I suppose.”  
  
Moriarty walked around the small sitting room again, eyes seeming not to miss even the smallest of details.  
  
“Why did you come Moriarty? I’m sure this isn’t just a social call, because we’re such good mates.”  
  
“Oh but it is Sherlock. I came to see how you were doing, you know, after I dropped that bomb about Mycroft. But I see,” Moriarty craned his neck to the side frowning, “I see Joooohn has that all taken care of." Straightening up he turned towards the door. "Well, Sherlock, daddy’s gotta go. You’ll hear from me soon sexy.”  
  
“Are you leaving so soon? I was just about to poison the tea.” Sherlock called out.  
  
Moriarty turned back around in an angry huff. “Oh, you’re a funny boy now aren’t you. Good. Keep that humor, you’re going to need it. Something to keep a smile on your face while I burn you.” Moriarty crossed the room and got right in Sherlock’s face. “I'll burn the heart right outta you.” A bit of spittle landed on Sherlock’s shirt and chin from the amount of vehemence Moriarty managed to inject in his statement. Stepping back and straightening his tie Moriarty smiled, a deceptively sweet smile. However when he looked at John the smile dropped and he winked; turning no other words were spoken as he left.  
  
  
  
Sherlock let go of John. He had been gripping his jumper sleeve covertly while Moriarty was there. Dropping down into his seat he let out a very heavy sigh.  
  
“Right.” John said with far more emotion than that simple word should be responsible for.  
  
“Well that just happened.” Sherlock breathed out. “I wonder how many other times has he introduced himself to me or come around and I just didn’t notice him?”  
  
John sat down on the arm of Sherlock’s chair, massaging his shoulders lightly. “We’ll get him Sherlock and figure out this whole nasty mess with Mycroft.”  
  
Sherlock turned and looked at John, dislodging his hands on his shoulders. “You won’t speak to Harry but you’re quick to try and patch up me and my brother’s quarrel.”  
  
“Well I’ve told you Harry and I never got on, you and Mycroft pretend to hate each other but you look out for one another.” John argued.  
  
“Pretend is a rather weak word.” Sherlock mumbled.  
  
“Look Sherlock you’re just mad right now and trust me, I understand, I'm as incensed as you.”  
  
“I highly doubt it.”  
  
John went back to massaging Sherlock’s shoulders. After a few moments Sherlock shrugged John off him.  
  
“You know Sherlock, if you think about it. Mycroft paid you a great compliment.”  
  
“How do you figure?”  
  
“Moriarty, he's someone so insidious that the government felt they had to keep him close. Your brother felt you could not only match wits with him, but you would be able to handle yourself against him without any outside help. Otherwise he would’ve told you about it when he set it up.”  
  
“As my brother so eloquently said, he gave me you,” Sherlock patted John’s knees to take the sting out of his complaint, “You’re outside help.”  
  
“Wrong. I was, am, a precaution.”  
  
“Don’t be modest John. You saved my life twice. Maybe more we don’t even know how long Moriarty was out there, watching. You warned me.”  
  
John smiled warmly at Sherlock. “I’m not so sure you were in any real danger. I think he was just testing you.”  
  
“Wrong again John. Well half wrong. Moriarty was testing me, but they were real attempts.”  
  
“Sorry, I don't follow.” John stated.  
  
“If he had succeeded in killing me, he would have seen it as me being unworthy.”  
  
John nodded. It made sense. In a twisted Moriarty sort of way.  
  
  
  
“Well Sherlock, we’ve had two unpleasant visits today; you haven’t got a case, and practically a whole day ahead of you as you were saying. What shall we do? Something to take your mind, no, our minds, off this nasty business.”  
  
Sherlock looked thoughtful for several moments; turning Sherlock wrapped a hand around John’s neck pulling him down into a kiss.  
  
John allowed Sherlock to kiss him lazily, he savored the feeling of Sherlock's hands on his neck and their tongues lightly caressing. Pulling away he looked in Sherlock’s eyes, smiling he placed a quick chaste kiss against Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock chased John’s mouth as he was pulling away. John chuckled and placed a finger against Sherlock’s lips. “Persistent, aren't you?” Sherlock kissed John’s fingertip, tracing the pad of John’s finger with the tip of his tongue. John’s eyes darkened staring down at Sherlock.  
  
“Always. Especially when there is something I want.” Sherlock whispered hotly.  
  
With great effort John stood up and put a little distance between himself and Sherlock. One hand braced on his hip and the other scratching at the back of his neck, John turned and looked at Sherlock. “I have a better idea.”  
  
“Better than sex?”  
  
John’s eyebrows crept up into his hairline. “Uh, well no. Not better than - sex. I would imagine.” He looked at Sherlock appraisingly. “I- didn’t know that was what was being offered.”  
  
“Don’t play coy John, it doesn’t suit you. I much rather like it when you are assertive.” Sherlock said as he stood and stalked John slowly across the room.  
  
“Lunch! Let's grab Mrs. Hudson and get lunch.” John blurted out quickly as Sherlock was leaning in for another kiss.  
  
Pulling back abruptly Sherlock straightened. “Now that you mention it, I am quite hungry.” Sherlock turned away in a flourish to gather his coat and scarf.  
  
And just like that, Sherlock went from sexy to practical, sometimes the speed in which he went off in a different direction left John dizzy and trying to catch up.  
  
Sherlock was holding the door open for John. Exiting the flat they descended the stairs and as they approached Mrs. Hudson’s flat they notice a note pinned to the door. ** _  
_** ** _  
_****_  
_****_  
_****_Sherlock!_** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _Were you looking for Mrs. Hudson?_** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _So sorry, she has gone on a little holiday with me._** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _I assure you, she’s fine. And will remain unharmed until the timer runs out. And when it does, if you haven't found her, it’s bye-bye Mrs. Hudson._** ** _  
_** ** _  
_****_  
_****_  
_****_Kisses,_** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** **** _Jim Moriarty❤_

 


	12. Chapter 12

John punched the wall beside Mrs. Hudson's door. “Dammit!” he screamed.

Sherlock just stood there staring at the note, eyes unblinking. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he barely breathed.

John turned and looked at Sherlock. “Sherlock? Sherlock! Bloody hell.” John forcefully maneuvered Sherlock to the stairs, pushing him down into a seated position on the steps. John was torn. He didn’t want to leave Sherlock down here on his own in this state, not knowing where Moriarty was. But he also wanted to go upstairs and get his medical bag. Sighing heavily John opted to stay with Sherlock, medically there was nothing he could do any ways. He sat next to him, taking Sherlock's hand in his and began talking to him. “Sherlock don't you bloody worry. We will get her back alive. I will not rest until we find her.” John raised Sherlock’s hand to his mouth, placing a kiss to his knuckles. “I know, ahem, I know Mrs. Hudson means a great deal to you, but I care for her too. Moriarty _must_ be stopped.”

 

John was taking Sherlock’s pulse when Sgt. Donovan walked through the front door. He looked up at her in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“We got a call saying a kidnapping needed to be reported. I had hopped it was Sherlock.”

John glared at her silently.

“What’s wrong with him? He hasn’t moved or spoken since I came in, that's not like him. And you were taking his pulse, weren't you?”

John sighed. He was still holding onto Sherlock’s hand and he knew Donovan had taken notice. They were gonna have the talk, he just knew it. “ Sherlock is having a catatonia episode. He can’t hear us right now. He won't respond.”

“How long will that last?”

John shrugged, “Dunno. It varies.”

“John? Are you and Sherlock Holmes together? Romanticly?”

“No.” John said sounding very tired.

“But you want to be.” It wasn’t a question so John didn’t respond. “Why him John? Of all the blokes in London, why Sherlock Holmes?”

“Why not?”

“You know, you and I could get back together. We had good times, remember?”

“Yes right up until you cheated on me.”

“I _am_ very sorry about that. You didn’t deserve it. And I woul-”

“Look Donovan, _our_ time has passed. I would never get back with you. Not only did you cheat on me for over a year, it was with _my_ sister! And you had the nerve to- you know what forget it. I’m not doing this with you. I could not, would not date you again Sally. Even if I never got my chance with Sherlock, who is a good man by the way, you are the _last_ person I would be with. So please, stop with the flirting and stop baiting Sherlock.”

Sgt. Donovan stared down at John, arms crossed. “You must really be angry with me. You only call me Sally when you’re angry. For what it’s worth I really am sorry John. I realized I messed up long before you found out. I just didn’t know how to get out of it with Harry. I was so afraid she would tell you if I broke it off.”

 

John checked on Sherlock after several minutes of silence. “Mrs. Hudson.” John said.

“What? Who’s Mrs. Hudson?”

“Our landlady. She’s the one that’s been kidnapped; but we didn't call it in. Whoever called it in most likely had a hand in her kidnapping. The man claiming responsibility is Jim Moriarty.”

“How do you know this?”

“He was here before. Plus he is the one who was kidnapping those people, and Mrs. Brighton.” John explained.

Donovan moved forward to comfort him, but thought better of it and decided to stand there awkwardly with her arms crossed. “I will call it in. Make it official.” Sgt. Donovan walked outside to do as she said.

 

John leaned against the wall staring at Sherlock, looking for any sign of awareness. He was suddenly drained and pumped full of adrenaline at the same time. The need to get Moriarty behind bars was a physical ache. Getting rid of him would be the only way Sherlock would ever be safe. He was the perfect puzzle for Moriarty and he would never rest until he had either figured Sherlock out or killed him. And let's face it, if he ever felt like he had figured Sherlock out, he would no longer hold any fascination for Moriarty and he more than likely kill him anyways. John thought about what. Moriarty had said in the note. He had mentioned a timer. Standing up John headed to Mrs. Hudson’s flat, the timer would have to be in there.

Donovan came back in just as he was opening the door. “John what are you doing?”

“Looking for the timer. Moriarty said we had until the timer ran out. He was in our flat, but had he left something I’d have saw. So it has to be here.”

“What about Sherlock?"

John glanced at the stairs, unable to see the occupant but looking forlorn nonetheless. “Just keep an eye on him. I won't be long.” John disappeared into Mrs. Hudson’s flat. It didn't take John long to find the timer. But it was digital and connected to a bunch wires, that were in turn connected to what looked like explosives.

 

“John!” Sgt. Donovan called from the hall.

John hurried to the door, “Yes?”

“He’s asking for you.”

John rushed to Sherlock, kneeling in front of him aware of Donovan’s eyes boring holes into him. Taking Sherlock's hands in his own and searching Sherlock’s face looking for any sign that something was wrong.

“John why are you taking my pulse?”

John sighed loudly with relief. He would have kissed Sherlock if not for Donovan standing over them like a disapproving mother. “You had an episode Sherlock. You weren't responding and - and you had my bloody worried you git!”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes seeing the truth of his statement there. “So you called Sgt. Donovan?”

“Nooo, apparently Moriarty called in Mrs. Hudson's kidnapping.”

“Have the police traced the number? Did you find the timer John? How long do I have?”

“I don't know about the police tracing the number. Course I found the timer -”

John was cut off by Sherlock grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him in and kissing him breathless.

 _So much for not kissing Sherlock in front of Donovan._ John thought.

Sherlock released John. Fighting the urge to look at Sgt. Donovan. “You’re brilliant John. Thank you.”

“Not so fast Sherlock. Yes I found it but I don't know how much time we have.”

“Well why not? Was it in some sort of code?”

“No. It’s a digital timer. And it is hooked up to explosives. The screen is blank and I didn’t want to touch it.”

“Very well. Take me to it.”

John stood up pulling Sherlock with him. John walked out in front of Sherlock, leading him to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

Sherlock couldn't resist. He looked over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Sgt. Donovan. Her reaction wasn't one that he would have expected though. She smiled genuinely at him. He frowned. Turning back forward he followed John into Mrs. Hudson's flat.

“That wasn’t necessary you know.” John said gently once they were alone in the flat.

“What wasn't?”

John looked at Sherlock smiling. “I had a talk with Donovan while you were out. She isn't going to bait you any more nor will she continue to flirt with me.”

“Why, what did you say?”

“Just that even if I never got my chance with you she and I would never be again. For her to lay off.”

“You flat out told her you...that you-”

“Wanted to be with you? No not exactly. She asked if we were together. I told her no. She said that I wanted to be. I said nothing. She asked me why you. I asked her why not. Then she asked about her and I getting back together. I informed her that that ship had sailed and that brings us to now. You’re all caught up Sherlock, now could you please just look at this bloody thing.”

Sherlock stared at John until the other man became antsy under his unwavering gaze and then turned to the timer. It did in fact look like a bomb. John apparently was trying to be optimistic when he said it was connected to a bomb. “John. This _is_ a bomb. Not a digital timer connect to a bomb. Why did you say otherwise?”

“I knew Donovan wouldn’t come and look at it herself if she thought it was just a timer connected to explosives.”

“I don’t follow. What’s the bloody difference? A timer connected to a bomb or a bomb with a timer, it's the same thing.”

“No. To Donovan, a bomb is an immediate threat. A timer connected to a bomb, a timer that wasn’t even moving yet doesn’t pose an immediate threat. She probably called bomb squad to come look at it by the way. But at least this way you got to look at it first.”

Sherlock pulled John against him suddenly fusing their mouths together in an extremely impassioned kiss. When he let go of John his face was flushed and he was breathing heavy. “What was that about? You’ve been doing that a lot in the past couple of hours.”

“That’s because I can’t believe I get to do that whenever the mood strikes.”

“You can’t do that whenever the mood strikes. We ha-”

Sgt. Donovan cleared her throat from by the door. “Bomb disposal is here. They need the room.” Sally announced.

John left the flat with Sherlock trailing behind him. As they were heading up the stairs Lestrade entered. “Oh my god is it true? That maniac took Mrs. Hudson?”

“I’m afraid so.” John said looking down with his hands in his pockets.

“John-” Lestrade started, Sherlock held up his hand and shook his head no.

“We’ll get her back.” Lestrade said instead of what he had been about to say.

“We will be upstairs if you need us Detective.” Sherlock started forward again, this time John followed him.

 

Once they were back in their flat John turned to Sherlock, “Why isn’t the timer going Sherlock? We couldn’t have possibly missed a deadline.”

“I don't know. How about I text him and find out?”

“Sherlock you have never texted him or sought him out. Maybe you shouldn’t, you know break the pattern.”

“Why not? He knows I know who he is. He knows I know he took Mrs. Hudson. There’s nothing to lose, except maybe time.”

“Well, I will be upstairs I need a nap, I'm not thinking clearly.” John kissed Sherlock quickly on his lips and went upstairs. He was just laying across the bed when his mobile went off. Reaching for it blindly John assumed it was Mycroft. He was surprised to see an unsaved number had sent him a text message. And then he recognized the number. Moriarty. John opened the message with apprehension.

**_Johnny Boy!_ **

**_I want you to leave._ **

**_If you refuse to leave, I will kill Mrs. Hudson and I will maim Sherlock Holmes.  Take an eye maybe so he can’t be clever anymore. And then maybe I will take a leg so he will be confined and limited. Then he will be so bored and it will drive him insane._ **

**_Do not tell Sherlock why you are leaving. Don’t even show him this message. I’m watching so don’t try any funny business._ **

**_Jim_ **

John laid there for an hour unsure of what to do. He made one phone call and then got up. Taking only his mobile phone and jacket. He didn’t plan on being gone for long.

Heading downstairs he tried to get his emotions under control. He had to make sure to not give anything away. Sherlock was so bloody intuitive, it was hard to keep anything from him.

Sherlock was in his room, John approached him acting light hearted. “Sherlock, I'm heading out for a bit.”

Sherlock squinted already suspicious. “Oh. Where are you going?”

“Just out, to clear my my head. Did Moriarty respond to your text?”

“No.”

“Alright then. I’ll be back Sherlock.” John stared at Sherlock intently, hoping that Sherlock got his meaning and didn’t hate him by time he could return to him. John started out of the room but then turned back dragging Sherlock into his arms. He kissed him desperately, like a drowning man. He poured all his feelings and unspoken promises into that kiss. Trying to convey to Sherlock with this single kiss the depth of the love he felt for him. Because he did love Sherlock, he’d stopped trying to delude himself about that fact a couple of weeks back. But he couldn’t tell Sherlock that now, so he settled for trying to show him; to brand his name forever on Sherlock’s psyche, on his very lips. John reigned the kiss in taming it before he couldn’t make himself walk away. Pulling away he placed a final heart shattering kiss against Sherlock’s lips. He looked up into those all seeing, too blue eyes and repeated his early statement with more raw feeling. “I _will_ be back.” John turned around and left the flat. A single tear escaping before he could stop it. A block over he got in the unmarked black sedan that was waiting for him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I hate me.

Sherlock paced the sitting room like a caged lion. It had been hours since John had left to clear his head. He’d thought it strange when John said he even needed to get out. John was very anal about sticking close to Sherlock in times of high alert. And this definitely qualified as a time for high alert. But furthermore, John never missed their nightly couch time. No matter if they were in the middle of a case, if John was seeing someone or even if they had a bad row, he was always home in time. Sherlock was officially worried. Especially considering the way John had kissed him before leaving. If he was honest it down right scared him.

Sherlock snatched up his phone texting John.

**_Is everything okay? - SH_ **

No response.

 

John sat in the overstuffed chair absolutely miserable. Every time a text came in from Sherlock he felt more and more like a heel. But he would not put himself above Sherlock's safety or Mrs. Hudson’s.

**_John answer me. - SH_ **

**_At least tell me you are okay. - SH_ **

**_The timer started 2 hours ago. - SH_ **

**_John I will not sleep until I know Moriarty does not have you. - SH_ **

**_Did I do something? - SH_ **

**_I’m deeply sorry if I did. - SH_ **

Mycroft sat across from a very mopey John Watson. He'd really messed this up. Not only had he dragged his brother into this mess and put him in danger, Mycroft felt the weight of the unnecessary deaths done by Moriarty in attemp to draw in and impress Sherlock. If Mrs. Hudson died he knew Sherlock would never forgive him.

But to make matters even worse, Mycroft had dragged John into this debacle. He’d only wanted an easy job in personal security detail. Mycroft had assured him watching his brother would be that. Instead Mycroft had managed to find the one person compatible with his finicky little brother and he had royally messed it up for him.

John was clearly in love with his brother and so very miserable without Sherlock. He would hate to see Sherlock. He had nobody right now. He was alone with only his mind to keep him company, which was never a good thing.

“John I-”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. You don't get to apologize to me to make yourself feel better. This is all your fault and you bloody well know it. Your brother is left unprotected. Mrs. Hudson is God knows where, most certainly frightened. And I'm here miserable with an even more miserable sod.” John clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. “At least tell me that you didn’t leave him completely vulnerable. You have someone watching out for him. Please tell me that much.”

“Of course John. Do you take me for a complete idiot?”

John looked at him pointedly. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“On second thought, no. I'm guessing by your really morose mood you and my brother are sleeping together.”

John squinted his eyes menacingly at Mycroft. _Goodness he and my brother must have really been spending tons of time together, they both to do that look_ _exactly_ _the same. If a scathing look could kill he would be dead ten times over. Mycroft thought._

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“He is my brother. I think it is.”

If even possible John got even squinter and more menacing. “It really isn't.” John said in a low tone.

Mycroft had to fight not to squirm underneath the weight of John’s glare. “So it’s just a fling while you protect him then. Does Sherlock know this?” Mycroft pressed, he hated to do so, but he had to be sure about John’s intentions, his brother was far more fragile than he appeared. And Mycroft had brought this potential tragedy to Sherlock's door steps, the least he could head off any unnecessary heartache.

“If something happens to Sherlock Mycroft, I want you to know I will blame you. And I will make you wish you had never met me.”

“Is that threat suppose to scare me John? Do you not think I would be remiss if something happened to my baby brother? Isn’t that why you are here? Not simply because I hired you?”

John moved forward, perched on the edge of his chair, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know Mycroft instead of trying to play these little mind games. It doesn’t suit you. Sherlock is much better at it.” And as if on cue another text from Sherlock came in. John didn’t check although he desperately wanted to. It was a connection to Sherlock; no matter how small or fleeting it was. He knew Sherlock was on the other end of the text. John continued to stare at Mycroft instead, waiting for the elder Holmes brother to man up and ask what he really wanted to know. He wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

 

Mycroft who had previously been seated forward in his chair reclined back, putting distance between himself and John, unconsciously going on the defense. He cleared his throat. “How do you feel about my brother John?”

“Wrong question.”

Mycroft frowned slightly.

“You’re still trying to bait me.”

Mycroft thought this over and realized the good doctor was correct. “Do you love my brother John?”

“Yes.” Was John’s simple answer, but in his mind, in his heart he screamed, _“Yes! I love him more than anything on this earth! And if anything happens to him I will murder you, I will murder you while you sleep and even the British Government will think it was an accident!”_ Some of that must of bled through because Mycroft was unable to conceal the audible gulp he took and the involuntary clenching of fingers.

John stood up, hands slightly shaking. “If you'll excuse me, I need to work myself into exhaustion while I figure out how to get to Moriarty. Goodnight.”

 

Sherlock lay curled up in the middle of John’s bed. He didn’t cry although his body ached for the physical release of this anguish. He had put on one of John’s awful jumpers and kept the collar pulled up over his mouth and nose so that every breath he took smelled of John. When did this happen he pondered, when did he allow himself to fall irrevocably in love with Captain John Watson, army doctor turned private body guard? John was fierce. He put Sherlock above everything else, his own comforts included. And if anything came in between him and keeping Sherlock safe...Sherlock shuddered to think what would happen to that person. He once watched John snap a guys arm, cleanly of course, for daring to put a finger on him. And another time still, Sherlock needed info and a witness was being particularly mouthy and unhelpful, John lifted the guy, who out weighed John by at least 50 pounds, by his lapels and held him against the wall threatening to do it over the balcony railing next if he didn’t begin tell him what was needed. In John’s defense, on that one at least, a little girl’s life was in danger. But to Sherlock, the most telling of any of John’s actions against other people was when he punched the police captain for calling him a psychotic freak of nature. Something so simple as name calling and John lost it. Of course Mycroft had the incident cleared from John’s record, but it touched Sherlock all the same.

 

And those few examples were why he couldn’t understand why John would leave and not come back unless it was against his will. Moriarty had to have him, it was the only explanation that Sherlock would accept. He was positive that John felt the same way about him. Could he have been wrong? Could he have read the situation wrong?

Sherlock slid the phone up to eye level and sent John another text.

**_I love you John. Don’t be dead. - SH_ **

But then he erased it. He sent instead,

**_The timer now has 1 day, 4 hours and 3 minutes left on it. But I can't bring myself to look for Mrs. Hudson without my soldier by my side. - SH_ **

Then he erased part of the message just leaving

**_The timer now has 1 day, 4 hours and 3 minutes left on it. - SH_ **

 

Sherlock pulled John’s duvet around him, cocooning himself in. Sherlock looked at the time again. 1:43 a.m. It was like the universe was rubbing it in his face.

I.Love. You.

1.4. 3.

Sherlock couldn't stop the tears that started to fall, and he hated himself for it. He’d always tried to distance himself from emotions, divorce himself from them if you will. But ever since John entered his life that was an impossible feat. Sherlock wiped at the tears roughly abusing himself for the lack of control, for showing emotion. He deserved this, all of it. He deserved finally learning to love someone just to have them ripped away from him. He was a horrible person who never seemed to see the good in others. Who always ridiculed others for their feeling and sentiments. Now it was he who was being slowly killed by his treacherous body.

 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. Every breath he took knowing John wasn’t here felt like a giant hand clawing at his insides, stealing his breath. Sherlock let loose a primal scream at the top of his lungs hoping to lessen the physical pain accompanying the emotional anguish. His voice was slightly muffled because of the duvet, but now that he had started, he couldn't seem to stop screaming his pain into the universe. He screamed until his voice was hoarse and his throat raw.

Sherlock lay there in a numb stupor until exhaustion took over, pulling him into a nightmare riddled sleep.

 

John had exercised himself into oblivion, he kept going until he could no longer lift his arms. He would pay for it tomorrow, well later, it was almost 5 in the morning. He had been working out for roughly 3 and a half hours straight. John lay on the floor, unable to move even to get on the bed. Silent sobs racked John's body. He was so tired and had sweated so much his body was dehydrated and couldn’t produce tears. He hated himself for what he must be putting Sherlock through. Sherlock liked to act as if he had a tough exterior, but John knew his armour was only an illusion at best. A defense mechanism to deal with the unjustified extreme dislike he faced on a daily basis. Sure Sherlock could be grumpy and pushy but he was also smart, scarily so, and caring, charming. And he was so insecure. His poor, beautiful Sherlock.

  
John’s sobs subsided as he drifted into sleep. His final thoughts of how he might have lost the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor boys. I'm so sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock woke up feeling worse than before he fell asleep. His eyes were red and swollen, his sinuses all stuffy and worse of all John was still not home. Nor were there any text or calls. Sherlock had an overwhelming urge to throw his phone against the wall. But if he did, he wouldn’t receive _any_ text from John or Moriarty. He was incredibly grumpy. And all the sleep he had and he still felt groggy and as if he hadn't had any. It was well past afternoon. Sherlock was sitting in John’s chair, still wearing John’s jumper, pouting, staring at his uncooperative phone when the door to his flat opened. He turned towards it hopeful. _Please let it be John._ He thought.

“Woohoo, Sherlock. I’m back.”

It was Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock was so stunned he sat there staring at her in silence.

Mrs. Hudson took in Sherlock’s appearance and rushed to his side. “Oh dear. Did you and John have another row?”

“You-you’re here.” Sherlock stuttered out in disbelief.

“Of course dear. Where else would I be? I am a little earlier than I said I would be, but only by a  day.”

“Moriarty didn’t kidnap you!”

“Don’t be silly Sherlock. I left you a note on my door before I left. Telling you I would be back on Friday. I had to run to my sister’s. Where is John Sherlock?”

“I - I don’t know. We thought you had been kidnapped.” Sherlock leaped out of the chair pulling Mrs. Hudson into an embrace shocking his landlady. It wasn’t like Sherlock to show open affection.

“Sherlock, are you okay?”

Sherlock kissed Mrs. Hudson firmly on the cheek spinning her around.

“I’m better now Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

“I will be downstairs if you need me Sherlock.”

Sherlock waved a hand at Mrs. Hudson absently.

**_Mrs. Hudson is home. She was away at her sisters. Come home now. - SH_ **

 

John received the text. He was absolutely jubilant. But it was short lived. He was happy Mrs. Hudson was alive and well. That Moriarty had never laid his evil, filthy hands on her. But John couldn’t go back home. Moriarty was jealous of the attention Sherlock gave him. He wanted all of Sherlock’s attention. He wouldn’t settle for only part of it. John knew what he needed to do. And he would need Mycroft’s help to do it.

He was so bloody sore. He’d known he would be though. Working out. It’s what he did to keep his mind from wandering too far. It helped keep him sane.

 

John pushed past the pain, dragging himself off the floor. He went in search of Mycroft. What he found instead was a note.

**_Working. Contact me if you need anything. - M_ **

John cursed silently. He needed action. He needed more than anything to finish this with Moriarty and get back to Sherlock. He really was relieved that Mrs. Hudson was okay. He knew Sherlock was happy as well, but it would be overshadowed by John not coming home. He would think John had abandoned him. He took out his phone and texted Mycroft.

**_Mrs. Hudson is home. Moriarty never had her. I need your help taking Moriarty out. It’s the only way Sherlock will ever be safe. Please assist me in anyway you can._ **

John went to the kitchen finding it fully stocked unlike Sherlock’s. But then again, Sherlock barely ate. John fixed himself an omelet filled with spinach, tomatoes, cheese and chicken breast. He sat down at the table with his plate and a glass of orange juice. He suspected it was freshly squeezed. Only the best for Mycroft Holmes.

 

Later that night Mycroft finally sauntered in. “John. What are you still doing here? I thought for sure you would’ve ran back to Baker Street by now.”

“I can’t go back yet. If I do Moriarty will harm Sherlock.”

“But if you’re there how can he get near him?”

“You know your brother. He likes to slip off by himself from time to time. As long as Moriarty thinks I am staying away from Sherlock he will leave Sherlock alone. He’s watching him.”

“John I implore you to go back and work this out with Sherlock. You can take out Moriarty together. I am afraid of what he will do if he falls into a depression. The drugs John. It’s a filthy habit he can’t seem to shake.”

John walked over to Mycroft thrusting his mobile phone in the taller man’s face. It was a text he received from Moriarty while Mycroft was out. It was a photo of Sherlock in their flat.

“That’s my room by the way.”

“Okay so I will send a tech in there, have them sweep for surveillance and you get in there and keep my brother safe.”

John did something on his phone and then held it up for Mycroft to see again.

**_See Johnny boy. Sherlock is safe._ **

**_Such a delicious mouth. But I'm sure you are well versed on that subject._ **

**_I know you are aware that that old biddy Mrs. Hudson is alive._ **

**_Make sure you keep up your end of the bargain and stay away from Sherlock Holmes. If you don't, you already know what will happen. I have the place watched and loaded down with so much surveillance you’ll never find it all. Besides, if any of it goes offline...bye bye Sherlock._ **

**_Jim_ **

Mycroft sighed and sat down heavily in the chair closest to him. “What do you need from me?”

John finally sat down as well. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

“Of course you have.” Mycroft muttered.

“Not just today. Since- since Mrs.Brighton. Moriarty obviously has a network of, well I suppose anyone and everyone he would need to take on any job imaginable. And any place. Sounds very daunting, but with your help, I must take out his entire network. You said the government was working on trying to take him out, how is that going?” John asked.

Mycroft huffed and crossed his legs. “That’s classified information Captain Watson. But I suppose it matters not. We have set up a classified group of elite soldiers in the Queen’s Army. We hadn't realized how vast Moriarty’s network was until after this messy business with my brother had started. I need someone to lead the group John. You’re perfect for it. I will have you reinstated into the Queen's Army immediately. You’ll need to get yourself military ready. I will let you know when and where your team will ship out.”

John ran a hand through his hair. Sherlock seemed to like his hair and facial scruff. But it had to go. It was not military protocol. Standing up John went back to his room and to the adjoining bathroom. He checked the drawers and found a pair of very sharp scissors. He cut his hair as low as he could get it and then using the bar soap on the sink he made a lather covering his head and jaw, shaving with the scissors. He cut himself a few times, but it helped to keep his mind from Sherlock. He _had_ to do this. When he was done he jumped in the shower to wash away the hair, blood and tension. It felt good to be working towards putting Moriarty away. With every person taken out, he was one step closer to being back with Sherlock. Stepping out of the shower and back in his room John found a military uniform on the bed. A strong sense of nostalgia swept over him. He missed the army.

His phone beeped. He crossed over to the side table checking it. Three text messages.

**_John. - SH_ **

**_Mrs. Hudson is annoying me. She misses you. - SH_ **

John smiled at that one.

**_John, by your lack of response I must assume you are either being held against your will, which I find hard to believe. Or you have left voluntarily. Which in this case, I must say if you do not come home tonight, please do not come home at all. - SH_ **

 

John dropped his mobile. He couldn’t return tonight. He couldn’t even send word to him. When he got done with Moriarty, Sherlock wouldn’t even want him back. John collapsed on his bed, face falling into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. He cried. He’d lost before he even begun. This was all for nothing. No. Not true. Sherlock would be forever safe when he was done and that in itself was worth the numbing pain spreading through his body.

John got up and yanked on his uniform. It was a desert field uniform in shades of brown and khakis. He assumed they were going somewhere bloody hot. Just as he was sliding his hat in place Mycroft knocked once on the door and opened it, he said, It’s time. Your team is shipping out now.” John nodded once. Retrieving his mobile from the floor he slipped it into his pocket and followed Mycroft out the house.

 

 ** _Six months had passed._ ** Sherlock had sent John one text message everyday for the past 6 months. None came yesterday. And so far none today. It worried John. He asked Mycroft on a regular basis how Sherlock was doing. His answer was always the same. Better than he had dared to hope. Which truly didn’t mean anything. Especially after the new picture Moriarty had sent John. He had been doing that for the past 6 months as well. Sending John pictures of Sherlock. Taunting him. It had been a while since the last picture received. And John wished to God Moriarty hadn’t sent him this one. Sherlock was in a bad way.

He had to get this done. He wanted to go after Moriarty now. Because the longer they waited, the more people he added back to his network. John told Mycroft this much and he agreed they needed to start looking for Moriarty.

 

Sherlock sat curled up in John’s chair. It no longer smelled of him. Just like his room no longer smelled of him. Sherlock ceased to have any tangible tie to John Watson. He had begun to wonder if he had imagined him up altogether. Mrs. Hudson didn’t speak of him anymore and even though he and Mycroft were loosely on speaking terms he too acted as if John never existed.

Everyday was getting harder for Sherlock not to touch any drugs. Nothing held any joy or interest for him. Lestrade had even come to him asking him to help with a locked door, double murder. It wasn’t as good as a locked door triple murder, but ordinarily Sherlock wouldn’t have turned it down.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t really speak other than to tell people to bugger off. He hadn't sent John a text in two days. But for the prior 180 days, Sherlock had sent John a text each day hoping he would eventually just pick up his phone and respond back. John never did.

Sherlock wanted to die. He had nothing. Drugs would at least help him forget everything and everyone. Including John. Moriarty even left him alone. Every now and then he would get a taunting message from Moriarty. Rubbing in the fact that he had succeeded in breaking the great Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was broken indeed, but it was John who had broke him, not Jim Moriarty.

 

Sherlock had no clue how normal people kept right living after a heartbreak. Sherlock reached out for his phone. He texted Mycroft.

_**Brother, come at once. - SH** _

 

When Mycroft got there less than an hour later Sherlock was still curled up in John’s chair. Mycroft had let himself in. “Sherlock. What can I do for you brother mine?”

Sherlock faced Mycroft. “Kill me and make the pain stop.”

“I'm sorry baby brother I can’t do that. Pain is essential to life.”

“Well then, I want to be admitted to the mental ward at Bart’s.”

“What!? Sherlock are you mad? What in Heaven's name for?”

“It's getting harder and harder not to use Mycroft. I'm hopeless. It’s getting harder and harder not to end it all. I don’t want to hurt mummy. Please admit me.”

An array of emotions passed over Mycroft's face but the one that settled was resignation. “Okay brother. Get up, I shall take you now.”

“Thank you Mycroft. Thank you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**_ _ **

**_2 more months have passed,_** and John still had not heard from Sherlock. It had had been hell on him. He had begun writing letters to Sherlock to help with the lost of contact; and he didn’t suspect that Sherlock would ever see them but it helped all the same. John made Mycroft promise though, if anything untoward happened to him in the upcoming face off, that he would give the letters to Sherlock. Mycroft had promised. He had also assured John that Sherlock was doing much better, that there was nothing to worry about. But the good doctor had a nagging feeling and he didn’t quite believe Mycroft. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but just a feeling he couldn’t shake.

John was sitting down now to write hopefully not his last letter to Sherlockl, tonight he would be finally going head to head with Moriarty. They had gotten good, reliable intel from an ex-business partner of Moriarty’s on where he would be tonight. Mycroft and he had agreed it would be safer for John to go in alone at first, asset the situation, if he could carry out the objective or not on his own. The team had created contingency plans in case he was unable to get in and get out safely. There was a code word to get his team in there and light it up; there was also an emergency code word if John thought Moriarty would get away. In that instance, Mycroft would set off explosives ensuring that Moriarty would not get out alive. But neither would John.

 

**_Sherlock,_ **

**_I pray this will not be my last letter to you or the last time I get to speak to you. If all things go well Moriarty will be put down tonight; and I will be so much closer to getting back to you._ **

**_I know I have left so much unsaid, but that has been because I had hoped to say these things in person. But in case that option is taken from me tonight; I love you Sherlock Holmes. I wish I could take every day of the rest of my life showing you just how much I love you. Taking each day making it up to you, this miserable time we've had to spend apart. I want nothing more than to wake up every morning to your grumpy complaints and to make love to you every night before falling asleep with you in my arms._ **

**_I’m so sorry, but it had to be this way. I couldn’t chance Moriarty following through with his threat to hurt you. I rather drive myself sick with need and longing for you than to know you had been hurt because I didn’t stay away from you._ **

**_I need to go prepare myself for tonight. Hopefully this isn’t goodbye. Remember I love you Sherlock Holmes. And you can rise above any and everything._ **

**_Yours Forever, John_ **

With the envelope sealed, the heartbroken man went off to prepare himself for the fight of his life.

 

Capt. Watson lay on his belly with a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He was watching a darkened warehouse across the river. He and his team had been watching for over an hour; and it was starting to look like their informant Irene Adler had given them bad Intel.

John was just about to tell his team to move out when a light on the top floor came on. The silhouette of a solitary person was cast across the window. It would be so easy to just shoot the person from his current vantage point, but he had to be sure it was Moriarty.

The group now needed to maintain radio silence from here on out. John signaled to his team the first plan of action. He was going in alone. He trusted his team to watch his back as he ziplined to the other side of the river and onto the roof of the warehouse. He signaled again to his team knowing they would be watching with binoculars.

The lone man shuffled across the roof of the building staying low and to the shadows. It was a new moon and cloudy; it helped to keep him concealed, in case anyone else was watching. John picked the lock to the roof access door quickly; glancing around his surroundings he double checked his service revolver and made sure his bowie knife was where it should be. One last signal to his men, this one signifying that if he wasn’t out in twenty-five minutes that are to try and extract him, making sure Moriarty was dead in the process.

John stealthily made his way through the pitch black building. When he reached the room with the light on he paused to the right of the door, pulling out his gun and taking the safety off. He turned the corner of the room quickly, gun out at the ready; but once in, John immediately aimed the gun at the floor. Irene Adler, their informant sat in the middle of the room wearing a tight black sheath dress, hair done up and bright red lipstick. She smiled and stood. “Capt. Watson.”

John knew instantly he had been set up and double crossed by the lady in front of him. “Do you work for Moriarty?” he asked in a low growl.

“Yesss. And -” that was all Irene managed to say before a red spot bloomed between her eyes, the woman fell to the warehouse floor dead.

A dozen red lights landed on the soldier's torso.

“Now John, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Moriarty asked smiling like the lunatic that he was.

John raised his gun back up and pointed it at Moriarty. A shot rang out. One of Moriarty's men fired a warning shot into the floor next to him. He didn’t even flinch when bits of cement flew up into his face.

Moriarty only smiled wider. “John, you're amongst friends. Put the gun away.” He did as he was told, he was out numbered but the mission was still salvageable. John would wait Moriarty out. His own team numbered 12, including him, so their numbers were pretty even.

“Did you ever wonder why Sherlock had stopped texting you? Why _I_ had stopped texting you?”

“No, not really.”

“Liar!” Moriarty screamed.

John stood there looking bored. He was only biding his time anyways. Let Moriarty talk his way into capture like every other stereotypical villain.

“I know what you’re thinking Jooohn.”

“Doubt it.”

“You’re thinking I'm going to monologue like a typical villain and then the cavalry will rush in and save you.”

John fought to hide his surprise.

“But that’s not going to happen.” Moriarty crossed the room stepping over Irene’s body and pushed John hard. He ended up tumbling backwards into the chair that Irene had vacated. One of Moriarty's men must’ve crept up putting the chair into place.

“Sherlock stopped texting you, well, before I get to that, I must tell you I debated with myself, should I lie to you. Or tell you the truth. The truth is so much worse. So the truth it is. We, Sherlock and I, stopped texting you because he is locked away in a mental health institution.”

John tried to school his face into a blanket of abject disinterest, but some of the horror he was feeling must have shown because Moriarty laughed a full bodied laugh. He laughed so hard he doubled over trying to catch his breath. “And you know the best part John? All I wanted to do was beat Sherlock Holmes. Break him _down_. But I didn’t have to, because you did it for me.”

John saw red and lunged for Moriarty. He landed a punch with his right fist right next to his ocular cavity, hopefully distorting his eyesight momentarily. A shot rang out. Catching John across his bicep. It reminded him of the time Sherlock got shot dealing with Moriarty and he headbutted the man on principle alone. Another shot rang out cutting a perfect line across his bicep next to the last wound. The shooter was aapparently a crack shot, and now he was just showing off. He let Moriarty go. At some point he must have grabbed him by his lapel.

Fuming, John looked at Moriarty, he was bleeding from his nose and lip but he was grinning at him. He fixed his suit and placed his hands in his trouser pockets, taking several steps away, while two men grabbed John forcibly and tied him to the chair. They didn’t remove his weapons which didn’t speak well for their plans for him.

“You know John, you and Mycroft took out over three quarters of my network in 10 months. You’ve been a busy, busy bee. I think I owe you for that. I owe _you_.”

 

Just then, laser pointers were sweeping all over the room as John’s team rushed in. They were about 15 minutes early but he was grateful to see them. However, that gratefulness was short lived. The first 3 men to clear the room was shot down immediately. Out of the remaining 8, one shot the lights out giving them a little coverage. John knew his men had night vision goggles and infrared sights on their rifles. But in the tight quarters they really should only be using handguns.

Capt. Watson could hear the click clack of Moriarty’s steps receding. Shots were being fired from both sides all around him, he tried to keep his head down and be less of a target.

Every time a gun was fired it lit the room up for only a fraction of a second, but it gave both sides a small window to fire. The room almost looked like the night sky with fireworks exploding all around, but the sound from the gunfire was deafening.

John’s chair was suddenly tipped over causing him to land on the arm that he'd been shot in twice, his head hit the cement He grimaced against the pain. Someone was shoving something over his head and John struggled until he realized it was his night vision goggles that had fell off when he had headbutted Moriarty. He glanced around the room quickly taking stock of the damage done to his team and looking for Moriarty. He saw Moriarty sneak out of a door across the room, away from the firefight.

Sgt. Brady, a good man was his rescuer; he looked to be mortally shot and with the last of his own strength he was freeing his team leader so the objective could be finished. John looked the man in the eyes and mouthed 'Thank you.’ Sgt. Brady gave a curt nod and finished cutting through the ropes that kept him contained. As soon as John felt the ropes give he scrambled to his knees and off in hot pursuit of Moriarty.

 

John kept low until he was out of range of the gunfire and then he stood up and exited the room. In the hallway he saw Moriarty at the far end of the hallway walking casually away like there wasn’t just an attempt made on his life. Capt. John Watson moved as quickly as he could while remaining quite. The echoing firefight provide some camouflage to his steps. Moriarty turned the corner. As John reached the same corner he paused and took out his knife. Rounding the corner he found himself face to face with Moriarty. Just as he thought he might. Moriarty’s face was a mask of surprise as he slid to the floor. The hilt of John's knife was protruding from his chest, a blood stain spreading over his pristine white dress shirt. Moriarty was smiling ever so slightly. Even in death, he had to have the last laugh. John stared down at the man that had ruined his life in so many ways. 

 

He turned back towards his men, just now realizing how quiet it had gotten. There was no more shots. John rushed back to the room. Not knowing who was victorious, he called out a bird signal. A member from his team returned the call, signaling it was safe, so he entered the room. It was littered with bodies. Some moving, but most not. His team had come out on top, but just barely. Four men were dead and another three were injured and out of those three, one of those was a serious injury.

 

John reported in asking for a medical team and an evact for those of his team that could walk out under their own steam. He knew Mycroft would take care of cleaning up the mess. Eighteen people dead, what a waste. But at least he had finally taken out Moriarty; and the threat to Sherlock was almost over.

  
Watson made his way back up to the roof with his team. Collapsing against the wall and allowing his head to fall against the brick, he exhaled heavily; he was exhausted. And had been exhausted for months. He couldn’t believe it was almost over. John allowed himself to feel a little hope.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock sat in his room. Well it wasn’t really his room now was it? He’d asked to come here so he shouldn’t complain. But every day here was like a small death. He missed the comfort of his chair. He missed the comfort of his own clothes. He missed his flat; but most of all he missed John.

It was a little better here. He wasn’t faced with little reminders of his soldier every time he dared to open his eyes. He wasn’t faced with pitying looks from Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, or Lestrade and the gang. Here his only enemy was his own mind. His overly eager to remember mind. He avoided his mind palace at all cost. If he even went near it he was ravaged by memories of John and his psyche couldn’t handle it, not right now, maybe never. Since the hospital was under strict order to not give him any kind of medication there was no escape for him. Sherlock understood, he did have the penchant for abusing drugs.

What did it even matter anymore? John made his point. He wasn’t coming back. It has been 8 months. He should take all the drugs and end it all now. It would be easier that way. Instead of a new death with each sunrise, it would only be one, final death. And Sherlock thought he knew which nurse would help him get what he needed.

 

There was a knock at his door. The only person whoever knocked was Mycroft. Turning his back on the door he called out a surly, “Come in.”

The door opened and then closed back behind the person. Sherlock waited for Mycroft to start talking. He always started the conversations with something dull and mundane.

“Sherlock.”

Not Mycoft then. Sherlock turned and looked at his visitor. The last person he would’ve thought to ever lay eyes on. “How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“Your brother.”

“And what of your brother. Does he know you’re here?” Sherlock asked.

“No. Of course not. He doesn’t know _you’re_ here and I haven’t spoken to John since the Sally incident.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing about it. “Not to be rude, but why are you here Harriet?”

“Your brother contacted me. He told me some stuff that he wanted me to relay to you in the event the something happens to John.”

Harry sniffled and her nose was red as well as her eyes. Why was Sherlock just noticing that she was upset? Sherlock jumped off the bed, “What is it? Has something happened to John?”

“That's just it, I don’t know. Like I told you, I haven’t spoken to my brother since, well you know. But I guess your brother didn’t know that, otherwise why would he ask me to talk to you in the event that something happens to John?”

“I assure you, my brother knows this and was using that to his advantage in some way. He wanted you to do something for him, but didn’t or couldn’t come right out and ask you to do it. Did he give you something to deliver to me? Or a message?” Sherlock prompted.

Harry looked up at Sherlock fresh tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what he was asking me to deliver. It could’ve been something illegal for all I knew. So I opened the first one. I recognized John’s handwriting right away. My brother is a good man. Far too good for Sally. I’m sorry I messed that up for him, but had I not he would never have met you. Right?” Harry removed a stack of envelopes from her bag and shoved them at Sherlock. "Although Mycroft filled me in on my brother’s whereabouts for the past couple of years, I think it best to let you hear where he’s been for the past couple of months from his own mouth.”

Sherlock took the envelopes with shaking hands, holding them to his chest.

“I’m going to leave you to it then Sherlock. It was nice to meet you and be able to put a face to the name.” Harry wiped her face before stepping out of the room.

 

Sherlock wasn’t sure what to think. First, now he knew that Harry was the one that came between Sally and John. Wow. He didn’t see that coming. Secondly. John had been writing him. Maybe he didn’t have his mobile phone and that was why he never responded. Hope blossomed in Sherlock's chest so fast it felt like a physical pain.

Sitting down he spread out the envelopes. There were roughly 60 envelopes. And they all had a date starting two months ago and the newest one was a mere two days ago.

Sherlock wanted to read the newest one first. He wanted to know where John had been and why he left to begin with. He picked up the first instead. It was already opened, this was the one that Harry had read.

 

**Sherlock. Please don’t be angry with me. I’m miserable. If that’ll make you feel better about all of this. It won't though. Cause you’re a good man Sherlock.**

**I've no practice with writing letters to a loved one so bear with me as these letters progress.**

**First off let me start by telling you where I am currently stationed. I’m in Canada. It’s the closest I’ve been to the United States. But it is still so different here in Canada then back home. It is very cold here. It causes my shoulder to hurt. Oh, you don’t know about that, how could you. I got shot in my shoulder about 3 months ago. We were tracking down one of Moriarty’s cells in China, needless to say, I kind of stand out. I’m healed for the most part but when it’s this bloody cold it aches.**

**Mycroft keeps telling me you are doing way better than we could hope. I pray that that is true. But sorry to say I don’t trust your brother when it comes to you.**

**I miss your daily text. They helped keep me going. I couldn’t respond though. Moriarty has the flat under high surveillance and if I had contacted you in anyway he would have hurt you. The same would happen if anyone told you the reason I was staying away. Moriarty use to send me text, taunting me with info about you. Pictures. You looked awful Sherlock. I am so sorry. I wish you could just forget me, you would be better off.**

**I miss our couch time Sherlock. Even if we never really spoke during those times, it was our time. I’ll make couch time better when I get back. Promise.**

**I miss you.**

 

Sherlock put the letter away. He kissed it briefly. John hadn’t abandoned him. John was out there trying to protect him. John was made to stay away from him. Sherlock had a spike of hope run through him again and the saying, _“Hope springs eternal.”_ came to mind. He was filled to the brim with hope. John just had to make sure not to get hurt.

 

Sherlock needed to speak to his brother right away, he needed to get to John and help him take out Moriarty. If Sherlock was on the move with John then Moriarty couldn’t possibly hurt him. Why hadn't any of them thought of this before? Idiots, they were all idiots. Sherlock included. Sherlock pulled his mobile phone from out of a drawer. He turned it on and sent two text. The first to Mycroft.

**_Call me at once. Of extreme importance. - SH_ **

And the next one to John.

**_I love you John Watson. Do NOT do anything stupid. - SH_ **

Sherlock wasn’t sure if John even carried his mobile anymore. It’s been 8 months since Sherlock had even bothered to text him.

 

Sherlock forced himself to sit down and wait for his brother’s call. He picked up the second letter in the stack. Upon opening it Sherlock was shocked to see tear stains marring the paper. His poor John.

 

**Sherlock, I'm a bloody mess without you. You helped keep me sane. Yes, there were times you also drove me insane, but you, you are my constant. I’m sorry it took me so fucking long to realize my life is nothing without The Great Sherlock Holmes by my side. The wonderful, smart, funny, beautiful, caring Sherlock Holmes.**

**I hope, no NEED for you to be fine, to be doing better. It is my fault we are in this mess.**

**And I guess it is rather presumptuous of me to even think you miss me. Or that I was the reason you were in a bad way. You could have simply been down because you needed a new case. I hope Lestrade is keeping you occupied.**

**I have to go. I have work to do.**

 

Sherlock was surprised when a tear hit his knee. He hadn’t realized he was crying. His John was an idiot. Of course John was the reason he was depressed. His soldier thought he was wonderful, smart, funny, beautiful and caring. Nobody has ever thought so highly of him. He needed to see John right away. He wasn’t sure if he was even in Canada anymore. Sherlock eyed the letters. He picked up the last letter, the one dated two days ago. He was sure it would tell him where John was.

 

 **Sherlock,** ****  
**  
** **I pray this will not be my last letter to you or the last time I get to speak to you.**

Sherlock tensed up, what on earth was he about to do?

 **If all things go well Moriarty will be put down tonight; and I will be so much closer to getting back to you.** **  
**

Sherlock gripped the paper, anxiety riding him hard. **  
** ****

**I know I have left so much unsaid, but that has been because I had hoped to say these things in person. But in case that option is taken from me tonight; I love you Sherlock Holmes.**

John loved him. Sherlock closed his eyes and let those words penetrate his heart. John loved him. Sherlock was aware this time when he began crying. How could he not? JOHN LOVED HIM!

**I wish I could take every day of the rest of my life showing you just how much I love you. Taking each day making it up to you, this miserable time we've had to spend apart. I want nothing more than to wake up every morning to your grumpy complaints**

_I am not grumpy in the morning. And I do not complain._ Sherlock thought frowning slightly.

**and to make love to you every night before falling asleep with you in my arms.**

Sherlock sighed. He would love nothing more. **  
** ****

**I’m so sorry, but it had to be this way. I couldn’t chance Moriarty following through with his threat to hurt you. I rather drive myself sick with need and longing for you than to know you had been hurt because I didn’t stay away from you.** ****  
****  
**I need to go prepare myself for tonight. Hopefully this isn’t goodbye. Remember I love you Sherlock Holmes. And you can rise above any and everything.** ****  
**  
** **Yours Forever,  John**

 

The tears were falling more freely. Soaking his pyjama bottoms. He was careful not to damage the letter. Putting the letter back up. Sherlock grabbed his phone once more but instead of texting anyone he called Mycroft. He got Mycroft’s voicemail. He hung up and called again. He needed to know John was okay. Again he got Mycroft’s voicemail.

 

Sherlock tossed his phone on the bed and began to pace the small room. Every awful possibility came to mind as to why Mycroft would not answer him. And then it hit him! His mobile phone must be monitored by Moriarty. How else would he know if John messaged him or if anyone else did. Sherlock rushed out of the room. He had almost free reign of the facility since he was there voluntarily, not crazy and his brother had pulled some strings. He went to the nurses desk. “Good day Martha, may I use your phone?”

“Certainly Mr. Holmes.” Martha put the phone up on the counter so Sherlock had better access to the device.

 

Sherlock dialed Mycroft’s number. His brother picked up on the second ring.

“Sherlock. I'm quite busy what is the problem.”

“John.” Sherlock blurted out. “Where is he Mycroft? Please tell me he didn't do anything stupid two days ago? Tell me he is with you!”

Mycroft remained silent on the other end.

“Mycroft!”

“I’m sorry brother mine, we lost contact with John’s team two days ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes up for the last crappy chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

John woke up to the feel of lips against his own. Automatically assuming it could only be Sherlock he kissed back, keeping his eyes closed. The other person slipped their tongue into his mouth and it felt wrong. Wholly wrong and he couldn’t explain it but he felt like he was gonna be sick. The other person bit his bottom lip hard. Hard enough to draw blood.

John’s eyes snapped open and he tried to shove the person away but he realized he was restrained.  Slowly the person came into view as they withdrew from him.

Moriarty.

He gasped. _No. It couldn’t be. He'd killed him._ “How...ho-”

“Hello John. Sorry to wake you. Sherlock seemed so taken with you. I just had to try you for myself. And you arrrre delicious.”

“How are you here! I stabbed you!”

“Did you now?” Moriarty opened his suit jacket and spread it, showing John there were no stab wounds. “Perhaps you dreamed it. You did take a nasty fall.”

Capt. Watson looked around taking in his surroundings. Bodies littered the warehouse floor. He was still in the warehouse. And he counted the bodies of all 11 of his men. Dead. Irene Adler. Dead. At least that part had been real. And ten bodies of unknowns, obviously Moriarty's men. His team had almost did it. But that bitch Irene had set them up. He had to say, she got what was coming to her.

 

"It’s just you and I here now John. I sent my other two men out to make sure there were no reinforcements hiding and to make sure your team didn’t leave any nasty surprises behind. They found the explosives. We also burned all of the radios. No help will be coming.” Moriarty had the gall to look saddened by the news.

 

“So what are you planning on doing with me?” the soldier asked with no trace of fear in him.

Moriarty buttoned his suit jacket back and placed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Well, I’ve had time to think about it, and I’ve decided to beat and torture you, and then send pictures to Sherlock. Maybe it will snap him out of his self pitying reprieve. And then he and I can have some real fun. I might even be able to persuade him to join me. What do you think? You think Sherlock will be my partner?” Moriarty flicked his tongue at John in an obscene gesture. “Or maybe, I could keep you around as our bodyguard, that way you get to watch...us...burn the world down.” Moriarty smiled sadistically trailing a finger down John’s jaw.

He showed no emotion, he refused to give Moriarty the pleasure of knowing he made John’s skin crawl.

 

Moriarty stopped smiling. He half turned away and brought his hand up fast and hard across his rivals face.

Again John gave no reaction. Not even one of pain.

“Tough guy huh? Maybe this time I should use a closed fist? Would you like that?” Moriarty followed through with his threat, hitting John with a closed hand.

John blinked the pain aside glaring up at Moriarty. He was wearing a ring that cut a gash into his cheek, it stung like crazy. He sat there and took blow after blow from Moriarty, all the while he worked at his restraints.

 

Moriarty was getting tired of beating John, he wasn’t even making it fun. Time to up the ante. Moriarty pulled out John’s own bowie knife. Moriarty did a few waltz steps in a circle with an imaginary partner as he spoke, “So you really thought you could waltz in here and take me out?” He ended his little dance right in front of John. “I WILL NOT BE TAKEN DOWN SO EASILY!” he screamed, spit flying every which way.

 

Moriarty straddled the restrained man, draping his arms over his shoulders. “I’m going to enjoy this. Peeeeeling your skin away, bit by-”

John headbutted Moriarty hard causing him to drop the knife and fall backwards and away from him. John stood up quickly rushing Moriarty, he was still tied to the chair and unable to stand up fully, bent at the waist his head connected with Moriarty’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of his captor.

 

John looked around quickly, he could try breaking the chair against the door frame or he could continue to try and fight Moriarty.

Moriarty took the option from him, engaging John in an unfair fight. He swung trying to hit Moriarty with the chair legs but instead was caught off balance; Moriarty using that to his advantage caused John to topple over, the chair broke under the strain.

John grunted as he landed straight back, hitting his head in the process. Moriarty jumped on John pounding into him. John brought his knees up into Moriarty's back, knocking him forward. John raised up and bit Moriarty hard in the throat, he drew blood but Moriarty rolled away before any real damage could be done.

Moriarty grabbed at his neck and chuckled. “Oh, now we’re having fun!” He kicked at John on the ground repeatedly. John scrambled to protect himself best he could and try to get up. The ropes had been progressively getting looser but still not quite loose enough.

 

Moriarty was breathing heavy, he took several steps away from John with his hands on his hips. “Wheeeew! I didn’t expect to have this much fun, this soon with you. I thought you would make me wait for the honeymoon.” Moriarty rushed John again. Watson kicked out with both feet catching Moriarty in the chin and chest. But Moriarty would not be dissuaded he fell on John wrapping his skinny fingers around the soldier's windpipe and squeezed. John struggled beneath him. “what a wild ride you are.” Laughing Moriarty let up on the pressure. John coughed and sputtered. Moriarty started to squeeze again, bringing his face close to John’s. “I win.” He whispered in a sing-song manner. Bending closer he licked a stripe across the choking man's face. “Mmm, taste like...defeeeeeeat.”

John suddenly brought his hands up, the rope falling away, chopping Moriarty on either side of his neck, and dislodging him.

While Moriarty lay on his side, trying to catch his breath,  John jumped up trying to catch his own breath as well. He had double vision and was struggling to see, caused by the loss of oxygen.

“John, you’re being a naughty, naughty boy.” Moriarty’s voice sang out.

 

When John’s vision cleared up enough to see his surroundings Moriarty was just about on top of him. He back peddled quickly looking for a weapon. He found none. Changing tactics he began advancing on Moriarty, reaching for him. They grappled, both men trying to find purchase.

Capt. Watson swept Moriarty's legs from under him and followed the man down. Moriarty’s head bounced against the cement floor. Enraged, the soldier then wrapped his fingers around Moriarty's dark strands and proceeded to bang his head continuously against the warehouse floor until Moriarty stopped struggling. His hands slid from John’s shoulders and landed with a soft thud against the hard floor. John scrambled off the maniac and looked for his knife. His eyes landed on his gun kicked in the corner. Stalking towards the cold steel he snatched it up. Standing over the unloving man, John emptied his clip into Moriarty’s skull. He had to be sure.

 

John tossed his gun to the side, stumbling backwards, when his back hit the wall, he slid down it, hitting the floor hard. It was then that he began to feel how badly he hurt. The bullet wounds in his bicep; the gash in his cheek, all the contusions courtesy of Moriarty. And he suspected he may have a broken rib or two.

 

John sat there staring out at the room, wondering if he was going to wake up again to Moriarty’s grinning face. He looked at all of the bodies all around him. Why hadn't Mycroft come for them when they didn’t check in? He began to weep for his team. His entire team was wiped out. They had been with him from the beginning and had become almost like family over these past 8 months. Some of them even had families.

 

Capt. John Watson of the Queen's Army  sat in a hollow daze, staring at nothing, aware of nothing. Slowly he became aware of a buzz, every two minutes. Buzz. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his mobile phone. The screen was slightly cracked. A text from...it couldn’t be. He must be dreaming again. John groaned loudly and waited to see if he would wake up.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Nothing.

Finally he opened the text.

**_I love you John Watson. Do NOT do anything stupid. - SH_ **

John teared up. His hands grew weak and the phone tumbled from his fingers.

Sherlock Holmes, the emotionally stunted man child had told him he loved him. He was sure he was going to wake up now. There was no way Sherlock would ever admit to having an emotion. Besides. Sherlock hadn’t contacted him in 2 months, why would he reach out now?

 

Wiping his eyes John picked up the phone. If he was dreaming what harm would come from texting Sherlock back.

**_Sherlock? I love you too, you git. Always have. Always will._ **

He hit send and let the phone fall from his hand again.

 

John must have blacked out, he came to with a start, expecting to see Moriarty standing over him again. But instead he heard his mobile phone ringing. It stopped. Then it started again. Blindly reaching for his phone, he automatically hit the send button, answering it. “Hello?”

“John? Where are you?”

It was Mycroft.

“Why didn’t you- why...why didn’t you come for us? They’re all DEAD!” John began sobbing.

“John, where are you?”

“I'm still here. We’re _all_ still here.”

“I’m coming John. Hang in there.”

 

John blacked out again. When he woke up this time he was staring up at fluorescent lights and he had an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He reached up weakly trying to remove the mask. “Leave it on John. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Mycroft again.

 

John Watson was in and out for several days. When he finally woke up he was back in the room he had used in Mycroft's house. He was hooked up to several IV’s.

Mycroft walked in looking smug as usual. “You’re awake, good.”

“What’s so good about another fucking dream? One endless dream.”

“Don’t swear John. But what are you on about?”

“This!” he gestured wildly, yanking the IV in his arm. “Every time I think I’m awake, I’m not and I have to kill Moriarty all over again. I’m done. Just kill me already. Put me out of my misery.”

“John, you _have_ killed Moriarty. You have been in and out of consciousness for almost a week. You had a concussion. Two bullet wounds. A mess of contusions, a dislocated shoulder and two fractured fingers on your right hand.”

John just stared at Mycroft blankly.

“And it appears you have not been taking proper care of yourself. You were dehydrated and malnourished. Truly John, a whole laundry list of ailments. My brother wanted to kill both of us.”

 

He glanced up sharply at Mycroft. “So the text from Sherlock wasn’t a dream?”

“‘Fraid not. After you responded to his text, an attempt was made on him. It seems that even though you killed Moriarty he left strict instructions concerning my brother and you. So I regret to inform you that you still cannot contact nor see Sherlock until we finish taking out Moriarty’s network. Also I have a whole new team ready and waiting for when you recover.”

 

John closed his eyes, pain washing over him again at the news. His team, they were all dead. That had been real as well. Also an attempt was made on Sherlock because he had a moment of mental aloofness and had texted him. If something had happened to Sherlock, it would have been his fault. Christ! He was an idiot. "Is Sherlock...okay?" Mycroft nodded.

Clearing his throat John next asked, “How long before I'm cleared for combat?”

Mycroft raised a brow at him. “I said you were injured, not dead. You are cleared whenever you are bloody ready.”

John nodded once to Mycroft. It was time to finish this once and for all.


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock sat in his assigned room at the hospital. He elected to stay there because even though Sherlock obviously missed his flat, Moriarty had his place under heavy surveillance and he couldn’t have that. John’s phone obviously was bugged as well because not even an hour after receiving the text from John a man showed up at his room pulling a collapsable baton from his coat. So the intent had been to hurt not kill. That had been a relief.

But luckily, most people underestimated Sherlock and he was easily able to take his attacker out and keep him detained until Mycroft could come and extract the man. 

The hospital was actually safer and he had more freedom here than he would at home. 

 

Sherlock wondered what far off place John was inhabiting now. The last he had heard from Mycroft John needed to recover from his run in with Moriarty. He’d even implied that John had maybe gone a little “soft” in the head on account of his time with Moriarty. 

Sherlock knew John to be a fighter but sometimes you just needed that extra push. And it really ate at him to know he couldn’t be there to push John, he had to go it alone more or less. 

 

Another 3 months had passed since John’s declaration of love. He wasn't allowed any contact and couldn’t even send John text because apparently he had lost the phone at some point between send Sherlock the text and getting picked up and taken to the hospital. 

Mycroft was being a real hard arse about the whole situation. He had allowed Sherlock one, and only one communication while John had been recovering. 

 

John took out the handwritten letter from Sherlock. He had to have read it at least a hundred times. But it was the only contact he had with his beloved detective. 

 

**_Darling John,_ **

**_I don’t usually take to calling anyone by pet names or endearments, but you John, I want to call you by each and every endearment know to man. In every language, tongue or dialect. You bring out the romanticism in me, something I always correlated to people of lesser I.Q.’s. But I understand now. I understand how such a fragile concept or emotion as love can be such a vicious motivator for both great and simple acts._ **

**_I adore you John. I adore how you take care of me, even when I fight you tooth and nail. I adore your tenacity in all you do, especially when it concerns your resolve in all things me._ **

**_You may consider me a self centered man for my way of thinking, but you must also understand, I have been alone for so long, I only had myself to think about._ **

**_I was angry at you. I thought you had abandoned me, just after you barbarically shouldered your way in my life, turning it upside down, after you made me see others before seeing myself. After you made me fall in love with the most wonderfully selfless man, the bravest, and wisest, beyond his years. The man who sits there reading these words now._ **

**_I now see and understand that even in the times I thought you were being a heartless prick, you were even then looking out for me._ **

**_Although I can't be there physically, though I ache to be, allow may words to be there for you now. Don’t be an idiot John Watson. Fully recover and then go after the rest of Moriarty’s web. Come back to me in one, complete, perfect piece. We will have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time. So don’t go dashing out to finish this. Take your time and be absolute in the handling of this matter._ **

**_I love you Capt. John Hamish Watson._ **

**_Yours Alone - SH._ **

 

John could probably recite the letter word for bloody word. It was what kept him sane. He had spent another 2 weeks recuperating at Sherlock’s behest. It was a hard won battle. Knowing he was so close to Sherlock yet unable to react out to him in anyway. He knew it was risky even allowing this one letter, but it gave him hope that the end was in sight. And that all hadn’t been lost to him. There was still a crazy detective out there willing to have him.

 

His team was currently split into two; half of his team was in the states taking out that leg of Moriarty’s network. And his half of the team was right here in London. This was probably the second most dangerous part of the whole mission. They were in their own backyard and would run into people they knew. There was also the risk of people involved in Moriarty's network being of high level officials and dignitaries. If they got caught here, it was an instant death sentence. 

Mycroft would only be able to do so much. 

 

John put the letter away. He had needed to read it to remind him that he had something good waiting for him and not to screw tonight up; to go in with a clear head. He was leading this team and he needed to make sure everyone got back home alive at the end of this. They were running a coup d'états against Moriarty’s network at 0300 hours. It was one of their biggest and it was saved for last for reasons stated earlier as well as they hadn’t wanted to tip their hand to Moriarty by hitting his home forces early on in the mission. But Moriarty was now gone and disposed of. John had watched on a video playback, Mycroft cremating Moriarty’s body and then dumping it in the sewers. It was one of the most gratifying things John had ever witnessed.

 

Laying down, John cleared his mind, using a technique taught to him by one of the other soldiers on an earlier leg of the mission. It helped to ready him both mentally and physically for the upcoming scrimmage. There would be an estimated 15 - 20 people in the compound against the 7 of them. He believed in his unit, they could do this. They had to do this. The split missions were the last two and then John could go home.

 

A handful of hours later John was leading his team into what they called the compound. From the outside it looked like a regular office building, but they knew the building actually extended 6 floors down. This was the heart of Moriarty’s network, he even had living quarters here. It would be safe to assume other people might as well. They sent an infrared heat seeking drone in. It was the size of a house fly and state of the art technology. Their tech officer was able to confirm the exact number of people in the compound. Seventeen. Twelve were up and wondering the building and six were sleeping. Three to a room, barracks style. 

 

Slipping in through a side door conveniently left open, John signaled for his team to follow him down into the the sleeping quarters, hopefully bypassing all of the people milling around. They would be back for them. Checking the read out on a handheld device, John was able to see the sleeping quarters were right around the corner. Three men would go in one room while John and the remaining three would go into the second. As the team was rounding the corner a man in a suit came out of a room further down past the sleeping quarters, he was heading right towards them. Thankfully he was engrossed in his phone and had not seen the men when they had stepped out. John waited until the man was right on top of them then he reached out bringing the man tightly against his body and quickly snapped his neck. One of his men grabbed his legs and they carried him into the sleeping quarters, laying him in one of the empty beds. They made quick work of disposing of the targets in this room. It was quick and went off without a hitch. Same with the other half of the team one room over. 

The unit met back up in the hall. They were now to systematically make their way back upstairs taking out everyone they ran into. 

John punched in some number on the handheld device and a map with a dot showing where each warm body was currently at popped up. Watson started forward with his men following closely and silently behind, they had complete faith in him. 

Holding up a hand he signaled two men to a room across the hall with one man and the other five followed him into a room with four people. As soon as they had entered the room, one of John’s team shot the closest person. The other three people all reached for weapons. Ducking behind desk and walls the elite team took their time, in no rush to deal with the remaining people in the room. They waited for a lull in the barrage of fire, John signaled for his men to move forward. The men all came out picking off a member of Moriarty’s network. The last member reached out and hit an alarm with the last of his strength. “Dammit! Move out, let's go!” John ordered.

 

Back in the hallway they reunited with the other two members of their team. “What now?” Someone yelled over the alarm. 

“We finish this!” John answered. 

 

Two men ran around the corner then, gun’s raised. John dropped to one knee, taking out the one closest to his unit. The second shooter got a shot off hitting one of his men in the shoulder. John and two other team members shot at the second man, he was hit twice in the chest and once between the eyes. There should be. Only four more men based on the initial count. 

 

John’s group made their way back up to the main floor, he stopped his men before entering the lobby. There were three men blocking the front doors, they mistakenly thought the soldiers were trying to get out. John looked at his device again. The men were spread out in front of the door. If they had brought an assault rifle they could’ve ended it all in one shot. John beckoned one of his men over. He was the best shooter on the team, he showed him the screen, allowing him to see the positions of the men in the lobby. The soldier pointed at the middle one and then to himself. John nodded pointing to the one on the right. John held up one finger over his shoulder, one of his men came forward. Watson pointed to the last man on the screen and then looked to the soldier to see if he understood. He nodded that he did. The soldiers got in place, the sharp shooter laid on his belly out of sight of the men in the lobby. John hugged the right wall and the third soldier stood behind John, he was about a foot and a half taller than John, he had his target sighted as did John. They waited it out. Finally someone called from the lobby. “We know you’re there, come on out-” That was what John and company had been waiting for, once the men started talking their focus would be slightly affected. Both John and the soldier took their targets down swiftly. The soldier on the floor scooted forward on his belly, he took a quick look taking the shot and scrambled back quickly in case he had missed his shot. John peeked out checking that all three target was dead. They were. He looked down at his device and saw the dot representing the last man was directly behind them. John turned gun at the ready.

“Stand down Capt. Watson. Job well done.”

John’s hands shook over how close he had come to shooting Mycroft. “What are you doing here you- you idiot! I COULD HAVE SHOT YOU!”

“But you didn’t. Get your men out of here. There is an ambulance outside for your injured.”

 

The team left the building. John was jealous of the fact these men all got to go back to their families and he had no one. He couldn’t even contact Sherlock and tell him he was only waiting to hear that his team had been successful in the states and he could come home. 

 

John made his way back to Mycroft's estate to get cleaned up and mope. While he was showering it occurred to him there was probably at least one operative in London they had missed, whomever was charged with watching their flat. John dressed and headed back out. He was going home. He needed to verify it would be safe for Sherlock's return. 

 

When John pulled up to their flat, god, even after all this time he still thought of this as home. All the exterior lights were out. John used his key and let himself in. Cautiously he turned on the light in the sitting room. 

John froze, his hands shook and his keys tumbled to the floor. He began crying silently, tears marching down his face unchecked. There sitting in his chair was Sherlock Holmes, alive and well. Smiling like he had swallowed a canary. John rushed to Sherlock pulling him into a tight embrace, picking him up off the floor and spinning him around like he weighed nothing. John put Sherlock down. Sherlock was laughing while John was crying, they were a mess. John crushed Sherlock to him again, never wanting to let go. 

Sherlock managed to pry John's arms from around him, holding him at out and away he stared at John and tsked. “John you must take care of yourself, you’ve lost so much weight, at least 23 pounds. That won’t do, I’ll have to fatten you back up.” Sherlock joked still smiling. He gently wiped the tears from John’s face, and lowered his mouth to the shorter man's, kissing him sweetly. “I’ve missed you John Watson.”


	19. Chapter 19

John was on the couch, laying on his back and Sherlock was sitting across his thighs nestled just slightly in between. John sighed. “Christ, I have missed this Sherlock. But as I recall I did promise to make couch time better.” He held open his arms and Sherlock snuggled into them. His head tucked beneath John’s chin, an arm draped across his chest and their legs entwined.

 

“Now tell me how you’re here and why no one has come rushing in to kill either of us?” John prompted as he trailed his fingers lightly through Sherlock’s dark curls.

“Simple. Mycroft called me around midnight and told me that you would be taking out the last of Moriarty's network around three this morning. That half of your team had gone to the U.S. and they had already reported back in that the mission was a success. He further informed me that even though he thought your unit will have gotten all of them after tonight, but I should be careful in case Moriarty had employed someone at the hospital to watch me.”

“I don’t even know where to start. Umm, okay _was_ someone watching you at the hospital?”

“Yes. The head nurse Martha. I admit I was very disappointed that it was her. I realized immediately I was being followed out of the hospital. At the time I wasn't aware of who it was, I couldn’t very well turn around and confront them. So taking a cab, I decided to get out one street over, walking the rest of the distance here, I had suspected that the person would know where I lived and would have come straight here.” Sherlock was drawing nonsensical patterns against John’s chest as he spoke. “I wasn’t let down. As soon as I came in the downstairs door Martha was waiting on me, with a gun pointed at my chest. Mycroft had sent Mrs.Hudson to her sister’s. But to throw a wrench in everything, Martha was crying. Apparently Moriarty had insured her compliance by threatening the wellbeing of her children.”

“Where is she now?”  John inquired.

“Home. With her children. I assured her that Moriarty was dead and by the end of this night she would have nothing else to fear.”

“How could you be sure? I mean, yes, you had gotten word that the team had been successful in The United States, but this was hours before my team even went into the compound. How could you be sure? I mean even now. How do you know someone will not burst in here and attempt to blow our brains out?”

“Don’t be so dramatic John. I could be sure because _you_ were in charge.”

“It could have gone wrong Sherlock. I very well almost shot your brother.”

“Pity you didn't.” Sherlock said absently. “ But anyways, it didn’t go wrong, nor would it have. You would never be so careless with my life. I knew you would finish it one way or another. Also, when I got here and after I had reassured Martha, I searched every inch of this flat and disconnected every last piece of surveillance found. I called Mycroft and had him send someone to search outside the flat and across the street. All the items found now lay disabled on our kitchen table.”

“So, in fact-” John started, voice catching.

“Yes. It’s over John. You done good.”

 

John finally allowed himself to smile. A weight lifting off his shoulders. A single tear escaped sliding delicately down his cheeks.

Sherlock scooted up in John's embrace, placing a lingering kiss against his soldier’s lips. He was complete again. He had nothing else to worry about. John was home and would never leave his side again. He would make sure of it. He would do everything right. He would get advice from Molly and Lestrade, then do the opposite. Cause face it, neither of them had a good track record.

 

“What are you thinking Sherlock?”

“About how insanely happy I am right now mon cœur. Thirteen months was a hefty price to pay, but I would gladly pay it again. The world is rid of that monster. For that alone, I suppose it was worth it.”

“Mon cœur?”

“Yes. My heart.”

“So you were serious about using endearments of every language to refer to me?” John asked highly amused.

“When am I not serious, boo.” Sherlock said faking an awful American accent.

Both John and Sherlock burst out laughing.

“That is ridiculous. But I must say, I don’t mind mon cœur. It’s rather beautiful.”

“As are you love.”

John smiled indulgently at Sherlock.

“I am also very tired, sadly. But I’m glad I ended the night back home, with you.”

 

Sherlock stood up, pulling John with him. “Come along mi alma. Let’s put you to bed.”

John allowed himself to be led upstairs to his old bedroom. It was a sight for sore eyes. Not that the arrangements at Mycroft's had been a hardship, when he wasn’t on the road that is, but it wasn’t home. Home is wherever Sherlock is.

Sherlock began undressing John. “I can undress myself Sherlock. You don’t have to do this.”

“Please, let me. You deserve a hero's welcome, it’s the least I can do.” Sherlock continued to undress John, pulling first his jumper off and then the tee shirt beneath and his trousers. Leaving John in only his pants. Sherlock slightly folded each item of clothing and sat them on the chest of drawers. He then lead John to the bed, turning back the covers and pulling them up around John once he had climbed in.

John reached out grabbing Sherlock’s wrist, “Where are you going?” A slight panic to his voice.

Sherlock raised John’s hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss against the back of it. “Nowhere il mio amore. I’m just gonna get changed for bed.”

Sherlock stepped away and started removing his own clothes. He was aware of John’s eyes on him, much like that night before John had left him; Sherlock had watched John dress for bed. Sniffling quietly, Sherlock found himself a bit overwhelmed by the feelings starting to well up. Taking John’s recently discarded shirt from the pile he pulled it on. John was a stockier build than Sherlock, and luckily the shirt was a bit long because John liked to tuck his shirts, it was the only item of clothing Sherlock now had on. Sherlock climbed in the bed behind John, pulling the shorter man's back flush against his chest.

“You look good in my shirt.” John commented, voice heavy with fatigue.

Sherlock chuckled. “Sleep love. We can talk more tomorrow.”

 

“Bloody hell!”

“What’s wrong John?”

“I need to go back to your brothers.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Anything left there can be replaced. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

“Well then I guess you’ll be coming along, because it _cannot_ be replaced.”

“What on earth could possibly be so important that you would subject me to the likes of my brother?”

John pulled Sherlock up against him, arms around his waist and hands resting lightly against his arse. “The letter you wrote me. _That_ cannot be replaced.”

Sherlock stared down into John’s eyes. He wondered if this fluttering feeling would ever go away. It touched him deeply that John wanted to go back and retrieve the letter. But not wanting to make a big deal about it, Sherlock opted to act nonchalantly about the matter. “What do you need the letter for when you have the author?”

John gave Sherlock a look as to say he wasn’t buying it. He kissed Sherlock tenderly before he spoke, “You git. Did you not keep my letters? Mycroft told me he had Harry bring them to you.”

Sherlock actually blushed looking down and away from John’s knowing gaze.

“Hey,” John slipped a finger under Sherlock’s chin, tipping his head up so he could look him in the eyes. “Sentiment is _not_ a bad thing. I know you kept my letters; I know this because you kept Moriarty's, and I mean a hell of a lot more to you then he did. Now, before we go get my second most prized possession, I want to _hear_ you say it.”

“Say wh-”

“Uh un, don’t play like you don’t know what I mean Sherlock Holmes. Tell me you love me.”

Earnestly Sherlock looked into John’s eyes. “I love you John Watson.”

John broke out in a grin. “It’s even better hearing you say it. I love you Sherlock.”  Sherlock's eyes began to water. Cupping his face, John kissed him. Softly, sweetly and with his whole heart.

 

“Okay. We have several things to discuss.”

“All right.”

John let Sherlock go and sat in his chair. He wiggled around in it's bit, settling in it for the first time in 13 months. Sherlock continued standing, looking down at John.

“First, I need to find new employment. Your brother will not keep paying me now that you and I are a couple.”

“Well I don’t know, I am sure I can blackmail him into doing so.”

John laughed. “Oooh no. I’ll figure something else out.”

“Well seriously speaking, if I started charging for my services I'm sure you wouldn’t have to go out and find another job.”

“What!? You don’t bloody charge? I knew you didn’t charge the police but I thought that was because of some sense of civic duty or because of your friendship with Greg.”

“Who?”

“Lestrade.”

“Oh. No. I’ve never charged. And since you would most likely be helping me on any and all cases, as well as keeping me safe; I’m sure the fees should cover both of our salaries.”

 

“Okay. That’s settled. Bedrooms. I am assuming you would not be opposed to sharing a room-”

“My clothes are already in your room.”

“Are they? How...how did I miss that?”

“You mostly use the chest of drawers, leaving me plenty of room in the closet.”

“True, and when did this happen?”

“Last night, after you fell to sleep. I snuck away and moved my stuff up.”

Sherlock grinned, quite proud of himself.

“See what I mean? And your brother wonders why I worry, you’re always bloody sneaking off. I need to handcuff you to me or make you wear a bloody bell.” Sighing, John let it go, a debate for another time.

 

“All right. On to the last order of business. Do you actually even like Italian food?”

“What a strange question. Of course. We use to go to Angelo’s all the time.”

“Yes but _you_ never actually eat anything.”

“Oh. Well it is my second favorite, so yes. And if there will be no more issues needing discussed, might we head over to my brother’s, and get that bit of torture out of the way.”

“On second thought Sherlock. We can stop and get the letter on our way out later.”

 

“Very well. We have the rest of our day ahead of us, and we shouldn’t have any interruptions. Sex _is_ on the table...if you’re feeling up...to it.”

“You’re such a romantic Sherlock, I’m not sure how I’ll manage.” John joked. “But, as much as I would _love_ to take you upstairs to _our_ room, and shag you senseless; I must decline.”

“What? Why the hell for?” Sherlock looked extremely offended.

“A date first, remember Sherlock. Those were _your_ words.”

“I think we’re well beyond that now. Besides I was bloody joking.”

“Too late. I’ve already made plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yes plans. You and I have a date tonight.”

“Really John, that isn’t necessary.”

“It is Sherlock. I finally get to show you off and I’m gonna. Now it’s final. No more arguments.”

 

Sherlock grinned.

“What's so funny!?”

“Nothing. I just love it when you go all Capt. John Watson on me. I think it’s extremely sexy.”

John pulled Sherlock down and into his lap. “Oh you think it’s sexy huh? You just wait until tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends this story. It was only suppose to be a quick one shot of Sherlock giving John the slip repeatedly and John being annoyed having to protect Sherlock...but right out the gate it turned into something totally different. Something unexpected. Hopefully you have enjoyed reading the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has left comments and feedbacks. It has made this whole process rather exciting for me. 
> 
> And a super special thank you to Zygomata Amore, for being my sounding board even when she didn't realize that she was. Also for all the awesome feedback and the two amazing covers done for this story. They can be seen on Chapter 1 and Chapter 15...or the link at the end of my story.
> 
> And thanks to DarkLuna for the fantabulous comments!
> 
> If there are any ideas for a new fic, leave it in the comments and I will try my best.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know whatcha think.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Praetorian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622239) by [ZygomataAmore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZygomataAmore/pseuds/ZygomataAmore)
  * [Cover #2 for Praetorian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766599) by [ZygomataAmore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZygomataAmore/pseuds/ZygomataAmore)




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